


Challenge One: First Time/Last Time

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, mating games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 88,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week one of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ. </p><p>For details on what this challenge is: [<a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/504.html">FAQ on LJ</a>].</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: [<a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/3595.html">Ch1 Voting Post</a>]</p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**1.**

**Warnings:** Unsafe sex, anonymous hookups, underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/???

 

Stiles always thought the bathrooms in Jungle were pretty much like other club bathrooms. 

It was the only place he’d tried out his fake ID (didn’t work on _any_ of the bartenders) so he didn’t have much to compare it against but he didn’t really want to, either. He felt safe at Jungle.

Which was weird, considering the weird shit that went down in Beacon Hills and in this club and, well, maybe it was his life.

The only weird shit happening on this particular Friday night, however, was the unbearable need to piss that Stiles was having. His virgin rum and cokes were racing through him so when he finally made a break for the bathrooms he didn’t take much notice of why the urinals were all taken instead of the stalls.

He slammed into one, barely getting the door locked and his pants down in time before he tilted his head back and groaned in sweet relief.

When finished he zipped up, ready to leave, but he heard a moan in the stall to his left, not unlike the one he’d just released. This one was followed by an answering stutter of heavy breathing and then rhythmic thumps. Stiles cautiously leaned forward, as if to press his ear against the wall. 

In his head he could see that scene in _Scream 2_ on loop and he ducked back at the last second. He had the internet, after all. He turned around to leave but as he faced the opposite wall he saw a finger hanging through a hole in the wall. 

“Uh,” Stiles uttered smartly.

The finger beckoned him closer but Stiles was pretty sure this was a scene from a horror movie, too.

“I wanna suck you,” a voice rasped through the hole.

Stiles considered his options.

Horror movie scenario in which he either gets a) stabbed, b) his dick cut off, c) otherwise maimed or murdered by an unknown force, aka: any day of the week while hanging out with the werewolves.

Or he could get his dick sucked.

Stiles unzipped his pants slowly, feeling his cock twitch at the thought. He jacked himself a couple times, then stepped up to the wall, feeling nervous.

As soon as the head of his cock passed through the hole in the wall it was like entering hot, wet heaven. Stiles tried to stifle his moan but his partner hummed appreciatively around him so Stiles couldn’t hide his reactions.

Jerking off quickly under the covers of his own bed was trumped by the introduction of internet porn was trumped by lube was trumped by the danger of jerking off in semi-public places was _totally_ trumped by getting his dick sucked in the Jungle bathroom.

His partner seemed to have done this before because he was licking and rolling his tongue over the head of Stiles’ cock like a goddamn pro.

Stiles wrapped his hands over the top of the stall wall, trying to move impossibly closer. His hips jerked somewhat, eager to thrust at will into the welcoming mouth.

He could feel drool rolling down his cock, towards his poor, ignored balls and he imagined his partner’s face wet and slick with it and his precum that was leaking steadily.

Stiles felt himself tighten at the thought and he cursed the world for being a sixteen year-old and having the stamina of one.

“Dude, gonna come,” he grunted but his partner didn’t stop, just sucked harder and faster.

Stiles groaned, felt his balls draw up and he sailed over the edge---

Screams.

Of course.

Stiles was suddenly coming into nothingness, his partner gone in a flash.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered. He pulled himself together, tucked his sensitive cock away and rushed toward the commotion out on the dance floor.

As he ran towards the noise he was jerked backwards.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Derek demanded--who else?

“Hanging out?” Stiles offered lamely. Derek frowned and nodded towards the exit.

“Leave, now.”

“But-”

“ _Now_.” Derek pushed him away and tried to enter the melee in the middle of the room but not before Stiles noticed a few thick, white drops on the front of Derek’s leather jacket.

_Huh._

* * *

**2.**

**Warnings:** canonical dub-con, coercion  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Kate

She had just finished swimming laps and was climbing out of the pool when he first saw her. She emerged from the water like one of Odysseus’ sirens and he watched, transfixed, as water sluiced down her flawless ivory skin and drops from her golden hair got caught in the crevice where her tiny bikini pushed her breasts together. He felt his pulse quicken and his mouth dry. He tightened the white towel around his waist to try and hide his erection. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life.

Every eye was on her but to his shock and delight, her eyes were on him. 

They kept their relationship a secret because he had just turned sixteen and she was twenty-four. Even two weeks later he could still hardly believe his luck that she was interested in him. He knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes and that all the girls in his class noticed him, but those were _high school_ girls. Kate was so much more, so much _better_. 

Everything about her overwhelmed him and he imagined it was akin to being caught in a riptide. Her lips stole his breath and the way she touched him -- confident, demanding, wild, uninhibited -- made him feel like he was lost in her ocean. He nuzzled her neck and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t good at identifying scents yet, but he liked the way something in her scent tickled his nose and stung the back of his throat; it was fitting, like the physical manifestation of the excitement and danger of her aura.

Her lips grazed the shell of his ear and her hot breath made him shiver. “You’re ready for this, aren’t you, sweetie?” She slipped her hand into his pants and tightened it around his erection. “Of course you are. You’re such a _good_ boy.” She kissed away any chance to object - though objection couldn’t have been farther from his mind. He knew that if he objected, she’d see him for the sixteen year old virgin he was and move on to someone more deserving of her attentions.

She twisted her wrist to get a better angle to jerk him off and he couldn’t stop the buck of his hips into her waiting palm. He knew he should be reciprocating, but the only thing he could manage in that instant was not coming all over her hand. 

“God, you’re an animal, aren’t you?” Her words barely registered before his eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) to look at her. Adrenaline pumped through him and his heart pounded. Had he shifted? Had his eyes flashed? Did she know his secret? As though sensing his alarm, she chuckled, her voice low and amused. “Look at you -- so needy. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” 

Fear mixed with arousal and alit his body. He came, hot and unstoppable, and bite down on his tongue to trap the howl he could feel building in his chest. In that moment he was infinite and ready to take on the world, all thanks to the beautiful woman at his side.

He reached down to the front of her jeans to undo the button when her hand stopped him. “Don’t worry about me right now, cutie. You can take care of me during round two.” 

She moved to kiss him, deep and messy, and once again he could’t believe his luck; she was everything he could have hoped for. He probably could have gone again right then, but he knew even sixteen year old boys needed a few minutes more than a werewolf. “What now?” he asked, threading his fingers through her hair. 

“Why don’t you tell me more about your family. They’re important to you, aren’t they?” 

“They’re everything! When do you think you’ll want to meet them? I’m sure they won’t care about the age difference when they know how much I love--” He choked off, alarmed. He hadn’t meant to tell Kate that he loved her yet. He knew it was too soon for most humans. They’d only been together for a couple weeks, but he had a feeling that she was it for him.

“Awww, you’re adorable. I’ll make sure that you don’t have to wait too long. Don’t sweat it, sweetie, I’m sure we’ll get along like a house on fire.” She walked her fingers up his chest and gave him an undecipherable look. “Tell me about them in the meantime, help me prepare...” 

And he did.

* * *

**3.**

**Warnings:** Angst, implied character death  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

It's not like it's consolation or anything, but on the day Stiles dies, he wakes up to one hell of a blowjob. 

No matter how many times he complains about all the pointy teeth snuggling up to his dick, none of it stops Derek from rubbing his canines against Stiles as he tries to swallow him whole. 

"Oh my god, Derek--your fucking teeth, man." 

And obviously, it doesn't really stop Stiles from enjoying it. He lives an exciting, wild life, yo. No one can tame him.

"Holy fuck. Hell yeah," he curses and then accidentally pulls too hard on Derek's hair so he can feel the soft, unyielding pressure of teen on the underside of his dick. 

It gets him a growl, a cheeky finger in his asshole and a mind-blowing, embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

When Stiles holds his hand out for a fist-bump, he gets pawed aside but he can totally see Derek's smile peaking out at the corners of his perma-scowl.

"Come here grump," Stiles says, pulling Derek in as he lazily watches Derek jerk off to completion all over him. It's not like he doesn't love watching Derek's dick but the way his dark, thick eyelashes fucking _flutter_ when he's coming is the best thing ever. Afterwards, Derek rubs his jizz all over Stiles's stomach, totally nonchalant to the cliché territorial weirdness Derek represents but Stiles let's it go. Mostly because there is naked making out and Derek's eyelashes are still distractingly pretty. 

Not that he tells Derek that. 

Too bad the rest of his day sort of goes down hill and in the end, he sort of wishes he did take the time to embarrass himself out loud by professing how beautiful Derek's eyeslashes were when he had the chance. 

One minute, they're winning and the next minute, well, Stiles is definitely only winning if they're all competing for who has the least blood on the _inside_ of their body. 

"Oh," he says, dropping to his knees before his head swims and he blacks out. When he opens his eyes, it's blurry and everything hurts but it's this dull, all encompassing pain and Stiles can't _think_. Everything feels distant. 

His breath feels wet and yeah, that's probably because there's blood in his lungs or something. He just gasps, trying to take a breath, but it feels like he's drowning—the water too thick. Somewhere to his left, he can hear Scott but he's not screaming or panicking, which is maybe worse because perhaps that means they've already lost. 

He doesn't think about dying, like, it doesn't _click_. 

One minute, he feels like his chest is on fire but then there's nothing. Logically, it's probably shock—that last ditch attempt by his body to feel so much that he feels nothing at all and man, if that isn't a metaphor for his whole fucking life. 

The next breath he takes gurgles.

When Derek's face looms over Stiles', he's stuck by deja vu. Thankfully, he's not thinking about blowjobs though because even though he's nineteen, that's an embarrassing last thought to have—regardless of how nice Derek's mouth is or like, how much Stiles loves dicks. Nah, it's those pretty eyelashes again.

This time, when he focuses on the soft, maybe panicked flutter of Derek's eyelashes, he's reminded of his mother. That last time, she was still smiling, you know? Despite everything, she could still smile and Stiles remembers being so angry, tangled up in the unimaginable thought of losing her. Randomly, now, he also remembers that she had lost her eyelashes by then. 

Her eyes had been so clear. Stiles had been so desperate to keep her that he barely understood but looking back, particularly now with time slowed down and what feels like an elephant sitting on his chest, he realizes how beautiful she was then. 

He thinks about how Derek is the beautiful one now, watching his unblinking red eyes, framed by thick, sooted eyelashes.

He doesn't think the last flash of canines will be enough. But that's okay. It's wet still, his lips and maybe his chin, but he tries to wipe his face and forces his mouth into something like a smile. He wants everyone, but especially Derek, to remember him smiling. 

All in all, it's not the worst last day to have.

* * *

**4.**

**Pairing** : Stiles/Derek

“Are you okay?!” Stiles shouts as he rushes over to Derek. “Oh my god, that was too close. I can’t believe that almost happened. Fucking shit. Just, fuck!” Stiles continues to ramble on as he runs his hands over Derek’s chest, checking for injuries.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is calm, but laced with something he doesn’t recognize.

“What if that Alpha had hurt you? If I would have been a second later with that spell--” Stiles feels a panic attack coming on. His chest is tight, his lungs refuse to expand and the world begins to close on him.

“Stiles.” Derek says again, commanding his attention.

His eyes snap to meet Derek’s and all thoughts fly out the window. He’d expected Derek to look murderous, intent on killing the Alpha that Stiles had already disposed of. Instead, his gaze is full of a barely controlled hunger; as if he’s about to eat Stiles whole.

Stiles entire body shakes at the idea.

“You’re powerful.” Derek states.

Stiles gaze drifts over to the Alpha crumpled a few feet away from him and- yeah, he’s kind of powerful. This is the first time he’s saved anyone’s life with magic. The first time it’s felt like a gift rather than a burden. “I guess so,” he replies evenly.

A low growl emanates from Derek and Stiles turns his attention to him. He inhales sharply and realizes what’s going to happen two seconds before Derek crashes their mouths together.

It’s all hands and teeth and Stiles has no idea what the fuck he’s doing because it’s Derek. Fucking _finally_.

He’d imagined this alone in his bed, more than a few times, but nothing compares to the reality of Derek’s tongue, hot and wet licking into his mouth, curling slowly to slide along his teeth.

Stiles moans and pulls at the hem of Derek’s shirt until he gets his hands under the material and onto Derek’s skin, trying to steady himself against the waves of lust, need, want that keep crashing over him.

Two strong hands slide down his sides and wrap around to squeeze his ass. He gasps into Derek’s mouth and bucks his hips forward, brushing their cocks together. His brain short circuits for a second.

_More_. He needs more.

In a flurry of movement (and absolutely no flailing on Stiles part) they manage to get each other’s clothes off. He’s seen Derek shirtless before, but it’s different now he’s allowed to touch. The moonlight peaks through the forest top and casts a soft glow over him.

“How are you even real?” Stiles asks in bewilderment.

Red glints in Derek’s eyes as he closes the distances between their naked bodies. “Get on your hands and knees,” he commands, very nearly in Alpha voice.

Somewhere Stiles dignity resists the idea, but his body has other plans, shivering in pure lust as he sinks to his knees. In this position he can’t help lean forward and lick up Derek’s cock. He swirls the taste around in his mouth as he turns to the side and puts his hands on the ground. Stiles is fully aware he’s presenting himself for an Alpha werewolf, but somewhere in the past few years this became insanely arousing, rather than insanely terrifying.

Derek wastes no time, wetting his fingers and pressing them to Stiles hole. The pressure makes his stomach clench.

“I can--let me--“ Stiles mutters a spell and feels a familiar wetness between his thighs. (It’s far easier to use magical lube than have his dad find the stuff in his room. He’s already had enough awkward conversations to last a lifetime.)

Behind him, Derek growls in approval, replacing fingers with cock and pushing in firmly, but carefully. Once fully seated they both release the breath they’d been holding.

“Move.” Stiles whimpers.

The first drag of Derek’s cock out and in his body is like the purest form of heroine. He’s never going to get enough. Dirt burrows its way under Stiles fingernails as he tries to find purchase on the slippery forest floor.

“Fuck, right there.” Stiles moans.

Mud cakes his bare skin and the quiet forest fills with sounds of their pleasure as Derek thrusts into him without mercy. It doesn’t take long until Stiles’ balls pull up tight and he’s painting his stomach and chest with come. 

A few more strokes and he feels Derek still behind him, pushing in deep and gripping onto Stiles hips as he empties himself deep inside his hole. 

_Finally_.

* * *

**5.**

**Pairing:** Chris/Victoria

Chris wasn't one for motels, not with Victoria pregnant and the woods swarming with glowing eyes. Not otherwise either, to be quite honest. Between the room with questionable odor and stains and the guy at the front desk rubbing one out over porn magazines, he'd have just done the last two hundred miles with his eyes closed if it hadn't been for Victoria pointing to the motel and telling him to stop. So he had to content with a chair under the doorknob like he was twelve and wanted to jack off in peace without his sister barging in.

The mattress looked infested, the mirror in the bathroom was broken and when he took a piss the flies in the toilet bowl snacked on his ablutions. 

"We've stayed in better," he said, leaning against the doorjamb as he did up his belt. 

"True." Victoria turned from the window, and Chris fought the hard-trained instincts of covering easy access and open spaces and protect her from the night and all the filth it brought that wanted to burrow into their room. 

"I'll keep her safe," he'd vowed on her father's doorstep when he'd whisked her away halfway across the country. She'd rolled her eyes and told him to keep it in his pants. 

She undid his belt when he was within an arm's reach, undid the button on his jeans and shoved them down to mid-thigh. Not so much keeping it in now as she jerked his cock through his boxers, kissed him, got him dribbling wet into the fabric. 

"It's safe through here," she said. "A hundred miles further south it wouldn't be the best idea." 

It didn't feel like a good idea here either until she sat on the bed and he stood between her legs, until she had his boxers down and her lips on his cock. Then though, then it seemed like there couldn’t have been a better one.

She'd not sucked him at first, told him he'd get a shot at her pussy to put a baby there and that was that. He'd begged. Some. 

"You told your dad you'd call when we stopped," he said, fingers playing through her hair as he nudged his cock just a bit deeper into her mouth before she stopped him with nails on his hips. 

She glanced up at him, pulled off and brushed the back of her hand over her mouth. As she cleaned the corners of her lips she was the fifteen year old he'd first seen in Sunday school again. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said. The wind rattled the window and they both looked across, him reaching for a gun in the belt he didn't have, his cock hard and playing at weapon instead. "He wouldn't be pleased," she added as she lay back and pulled her clothes off until she was halfway up the infested mattress in bra and panties. 

Chris saw himself dismembered and bled out in her father's Ohio ranch backyard for daring to bring the guy's daughter here, then she nudged her panties aside and whatever might be howling at the moon out there could wait. 

"It's just us now," she said later, sliding onto his cock, his hands on her round stomach and her heavy tits, her hands on his chest, looking down at him as she rode him like they were still trying to get a baby into her. "Daddy doesn't need to know," she said. He didn't know about her sucking Chris's dick or about little Victoria taking it up the ass either, but he slid in so nice when she was on all fours, their baby hanging down below her. 

The mattress creaked with every thrust, the bed frame banging into the wall in time with branches knocking on the roof. He didn't even know if they'd manage to clean up or if even the water would come out dirty, but she'd said stop when they passed the motel, so he'd stopped. He knew better than to argue with her, knew to smile gamely when she teased about giving him a whole range of new experiences. 

He came before she did, pushing his come deep into her ass. She turned over and pulled his face between her legs, got his lips on her pussy, and he stayed there for most of the rest of the night while she told him stories about big bad wolves and the men who killed them.

* * *

**6.**

**Warnings:** Possible Implied Underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Jackson

**And All Through the Night We'll Be Warm**

It’s not just that it’s Jackson’s first time camping and he’s clueless about _everything_.

It’s not even that he managed to break the poles for his tent and now Stiles is stuck sharing.

Stiles can even put up with the fact that Jackson plans to sleep mostly nude (okay, so maybe that part isn’t so bad; Jackson may be an asshole but he’s nice to look at).

But sharing a sleeping bag?

“No way.” Stiles sweeps one hand in a cutting motion. “I don’t care if you forgot your sleeping bag, or if it was eaten by a mountain lion, or even if you donated it to orphans. You are _not_ sharing my sleeping bag.”

“If you leave me out in the cold, I will make your life a living hell, Stilinski. Now unzip.” Jackson points to the sleeping bag. Just to be obnoxious, Stiles takes his time unzipping his jeans instead.

The tent is tiny, and by the time he’s ready for bed (loose sleep pants and boxers, unlike Jackson who is wearing _only_ boxers) he’s just about ready to scream with frustration. Being this close to Scott? Fine. Being this close to _Jackson_? Not on Stiles’s top ten list of things he wants to be doing before he dies.

After they manage to wriggle into the too-tight sleeping bag together, Stiles is sure of two things: they are not going to have to worry about freezing to death because Jackson is a werewolf heater, and Stiles is going to have blue balls by morning. If he can even sleep at all like this, with Jackson pressed up against his entire backside.

“Stay still,” Jackson orders curtly, hand curled over Stiles’s hip. If he goes much further, he’s going to find out exactly _why_ Stiles can’t seem to stop moving and can’t get comfortable. “Stilinski!” His fingers curl in tight, gripping him hard and yanking him back.

Stiles moans before he catches himself.

He feels the smile against the back of his neck. “Problem?” Jackson murmurs, voice shifting from angry to silky soft. “Are you actually _enjoying_ this situation?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not because of you.” Even though it _is._ Stiles can feel how they are pressed together, and is it his fault if his imagination is _very_ vivid? He wiggles against Jackson, because damn it, if he’s going to be uncomfortable, he is _not_ going to be alone.

Those fingers tighten on his hip again, digging in to the point where Stiles is almost certain they might be claws. And the _moan_ , oh fuck, Jackson is trying to hide it, but the sound comes with a mouth against his neck and Stiles _feels_ the sound slip out.

He also feels the hard dick pressed against him, barely separated by thin layers of fabric. He shifts again, because the idea that _he_ did this to _Jackson_ is just too good to be believed. He whimpers; Jackson covers Stiles’s mouth with his hand.

“Not a sound,” Jackson hisses. Stiles would think it’s a problem except Jackson’s other hand is now _inside_ his sleep pants, wrapped around Stiles’s dick, stroking. Somehow being gagged by his hand just makes it _more_ hot, and Stiles wriggles back against him.

He closes his eyes. Jackson’s hips roll, pressing tight and releasing, frotting against him. Stiles can’t stop moving, sensation taking over as he thrusts in shallow strokes into Jackson’s hand, shifting between the pressure of his fingers on his dick and the cock pressed against the crack of his ass. 

It’s like a fucking wet dream except that it’s happening _right now_ in his sleeping bag in his tent with their friends scattered around the camp site in their own tents. Jackson bites against Stiles’s shoulder, muffling his own groan. They could be caught at any moment. With that thought, Stiles’s orgasm overtakes him as his body stiffens and he spurts all over Jackson’s hand.

Jackson goes stiff behind him, then a sudden burst of warmth and wet against his ass, dripping against his skin.

Stiles is sticky and sated and _finally_ comfortable enough for sleep. Jackson slides his hand up to press against Stiles’s belly, spooning tight behind him, mouth light against his shoulder to soothe the mark from his teeth.

Maybe being forced to share a tent with Jackson isn’t entirely a bad thing. Waking up could be fun. “Think about the morningwood possibilities,” he murmurs.

“Sleep, Stiles,” Jackson orders quietly.

Morning will come soon enough, so Stiles does.

* * *

**7.**

**Warnings:** underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek, Stiles/Danny (one-sided)

The last time Stiles uses his sexuality to get out of trouble is also the first time he truly acknowledges the reality of it.

His father is standing outside the Mahealani house, arms crossed over his uniformed chest. The rolling lights from the cruiser dance across his face in harsh flickers, somehow highlighting his disappointment and frustration as he sighs and says "Stiles, if you don't stop making jokes like that I'm going to start taking you seriously."

Stiles is quiet for once as he climbs into the front of the cruiser, struggling with the realization that his father’s threat is quite possibly the exact thing he hopes would happen.

 

He’s thinking of Danny as he explores the idea more physically in the sanctuary of his own bedroom. It’s not exactly the first time this has happened - Stiles has an equal opportunity policy when it comes to engaging his imagination for his own relief. But it is the first time he gives weight to his fantasies. The first time he vividly imagines how it would actually feel to have those shoulders under his hands and god to have Danny’s hand stroking him exactly like this. To have Danny’s eyes flashing red and intense just as Stiles spills himself all over...wait, what? Shit.

Stiles is a realistic guy and he realizes that there’s a limit to the amount of self-honesty he is capable of in one night, so he cleans himself up and numbs his brain with Halo until he can pass out.

 

It takes him nearly a week to come to terms with the horrifying fact that he totally and completely wants to get with Derek Hale. And that’s rough news, really. It would have been nice if he could’ve set his sights on a less threatening piece of ass. Because as it is...

“Hey, Derek, are you wearing space pants?”

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles.”

 

Nearly two months later and Stiles is shoved against his bedroom door in a way that is probably supposed to be threatening but instead has Stiles struggling not to press forward into Derek’s ridiculous body. Stiles licks his lips and wishes there was something he could think of other than the fact that even when they’re full of loathing Derek has really nice eyes.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got gorgeous eyes?” 

Something flashes across Derek’s face, nearly too fast to catch, but Stiles sees it and thinks that people need to tell Derek how sexy he is much more often if it still takes him by surprise. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Derek says, wrenching Stiles’ t-shirt a bit tighter and slamming him against the door again.

It’s one of those moments where Stiles has too many thoughts running through his head to catch hold of any one of them properly. It’s moments like these where his impulse control takes over, cuts through the complications and acts on his behalf. As his mouth presses warmly against Derek’s he can’t help but be a little bit grateful for that arrangement. He’s even more grateful when Derek is fiercely kissing him back, hand releasing its death grip on Stiles’ shirt to slide up and possessively grip the back of Stiles’ neck instead. 

Derek slides his other hand down Stiles’ stomach, rubs it against Stiles’ hard-on through his jeans. He presses his forehead against Stiles’, breathing hot against his face. “Dammit, Stiles,” he grumbles, hands working together to clumsily open Stiles’ pants. He slides a hand into Stiles briefs, hand wrapping firmly around Stiles’ cock. Derek rubs his face against Stiles neck, stubble rough against Stiles’ skin and Stiles can no longer be held responsible for the sounds he is making.

Stiles gets a handful of Derek’s hair and tugs him into another kiss. Derek retracts his hand, and Stiles learns to move across a room without breaking a kiss, tries not to trip over Derek’s feet as they pause near Stiles’ bed. Stiles unbuckles Derek’s belt only to eagerly slide his hand into Derek’s pants without bothering to undo the fastenings. The edge of Derek’s waistband cuts into the skin on Stiles’ wrist, but he can’t possibly care because he’s finally got his hand wrapped around Derek.

“Shit,” Derek gasps with a glance toward the open window. “Your father’s nearly up the stairs.”

“Good,” Stiles breathes out, pulling a confused looking Derek down onto the bed. Stiles kisses him with renewed resolve as his bedroom door swings open.

* * *

**8.**

**Warnings:** underage  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"What are those?"

Derek looked down at what he was holding then shoved them in Stiles' direction. "What do they look like?"

"They look like a bouquet of pink roses. Why?"

"We're dating?"

"Is that a question?"

Derek huffed. Stiles grinned.

"So you brought me flowers for the first time because we're dating?" At Derek's nod, Stiles took the flowers. "You know I'm not a fifteen year old girl, right?"

Derek leered at him.

"And we don't usually make it out on dates. I think I can count on one hand the number of times we've gone some place that wasn't a stakeout or supernaturally crisisey. We screw and sometimes you let me cuddle you afterwards."

"Do you want to go out?" He was getting that annoyed frown on his face, and Stiles shook his head because he'd been horny since waking up that morning from a really good dream.

"Dad's at work until midnight."

"Put those in water," Derek said as he headed for the stairs, stripping off his jacket.

Stiles pressed his free hand to his already aching groin and grinned as he stumbled into the kitchen to look for a vase.

*****

The flowers held a prominent place on his night stand, the one that was shaking and threatening to send the fragile vase to the floor, but the werewolf and the human in the bed really didn't care.

Still half-clothed, they were thrusting their hips against each other, devouring each others mouths in hot, hungry kisses, caressing every inch of bare flesh they could find. Stiles was fighting with Derek's belt. Derek was this close to ripping the vintage DC comics t-shirt off his lover. Finally, they broke apart, both panting harshly, and, in silent agreement, stripped themselves.

Stiles was barely naked before Derek was crashing back onto him and the bed rocked and the night stand shook and the vase crept that much closer to the edge.

Derek pushed Stiles' thighs apart, gripped the taut, muscular undersides to pull them around his hips, and rubbed his cock harder and harder against Stiles'.

Clutching at the wide, rippling shoulders above him, Stiles groaned and arched his hips and tightened his legs and, between kisses, babbled, "Fuck, want you, fuck me now, Jesus, just do it." Derek was used to the constant talking, begging, cursing, and ignored him, concentrating on biting a mark into his lover's shoulder. "Jesus, are you sure you're not a vampire...FUCK, Derek, come on!"

His hands slid down Derek's back to grab and squeeze his really great ass and rock his dick up against those magnificent abs and he was so close to coming.

Derek growled not quite human-sounding, and switched shoulders, biting and licking as Stiles yelped and moaned and bucked his hips wildly. The bed rocked harder. The night stand began to sway. The vase was just on the edge.

"Going to come, shit, going to come just from this, fuck you're so...fuck..."

One long, dextrous finger wormed between Derek's ass cheeks and he lost control for a moment, pumping his hips hard, bruising the man beneath him, and neither cared.

Stiles tensed, then yelled and shuddered and came, his cum spilling over both of them and giving Derek's cock something to slide into in quick drives. He hissed, threw back his head, howled--barely restraining the wolf--and came hard and hot across Stiles' stomach and groin.

The bed stopped rocking. The night stand stilled.

The vase crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling water and flowers all over the place.

All Stiles could do was laugh helplessly as he came down from what he hoped would be the first orgasm of the night.

Derek started biting and sucking on his shoulder again.

Yep, just the first.

* * *

**9.**

**Pairing:** Sheriff Stilinski/Mama Stilinski 

**Last time Stiles interrupted his parents**

John closed the front door behind him, muffling the noise of the rain outside. 

“John,” Moira was at the top of the stairs, her voice soft as she held a finger to her lips. Her dark hair was still wet from the shower and she was already dressed for bed. Her bare feet took the steps two at a time before she was standing in front of him, her fingers curling around his tie.

“He asleep?” he asked her softening his voice as his thumb found the skin between her shirt and her shorts, pulling her close to press a kiss to her lips. 

She laughed against his mouth “Just checked, out like a light.” She backed up towards the steps, pulling him by his tie. John laughed, letting himself be led enjoying the wicked smile that curved her lips. She turned still holding his tie and he was pressed up against her close as they went up the steps to their room. His hand still rested on her hip and he used that to spin her around as the door closed behind them. He pressed her against it, lips attacking her neck and her fingers gripped his hair.

She pushed him away and he let her, watching with delight as she started working on the holster of the gun that was still strapped on him. She handled it with deft hands, pulling it off his shoulders and placing it on the dresser. John reached back to lock the door, knowing their son had a habit of picking the most inconvenient times to ask for a glass of water.

Moira stepped back, pulling her shirt over her head as she went. John worked on his tie, pulling it loose and letting it drop to the floor. He surged forward, cupping her breast in his hand. He felt her fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and they tumbled to the bed. 

With a preteen in the house they knew time wasn’t on their side as they rushed to shed the rest of their clothes. 

It had been too long since they’d done this.

Finally, kicking his pants off John moved to help his wife with her shorts, sliding them down her legs. Her legs spread before him and he gave her a quick smile as he shifted, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. He licked upwards, teasing her. Her laugh broke out on a moan, her fingers moving to grip his hair again as he worked her over. She was wet across his mouth, the taste of her breaking over his tongue and he ached for her. Still, he took his time, loving the feeling of her shaking apart under him.

“John,” her voice was shaky but firm “c’mon.”

He gave her one last lick, smiling into her as he moved up her body. Her hands hot around him as she guided him into her. They both groaned against each other as her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms curved under her to bring her tighter against him.

They had just set a fast rhythm, both too desperate to go slow when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Mom,” the voice was small and scratchy “is dad home?”

John bit back a curse and Moira muffled her moan against his shoulder. They stopped bodies tense and Moira called out “Yeah honey, can you give us a minute?”

Stiles voice was sad “I don’t feel good.” The damn kid sounded bad and John moved off his wife. Moira was already reaching for her clothes and John did the same, dressing quickly. As soon as his wife was decent John unlocked the door, his heart going out to the sad eyes that poked through. 

“Hey buddy.” He reached out to touch his forehead “Moira, he’s burning up.” The phone rang and John grimaced, knowing as late as it was it could only be the station calling him to come back in. 

Moira was already pulling on some sweats, reaching for her jacket. “I’ll take him to the emergency room; we’ll finish this when you get off.” 

John sighed, grabbing his holster to strap it back on. “Drive safe, it’s been raining hard and the roads are dangerous.” He leaned forward to kiss her hard, brushing his hand affectingly through Stiles hair again.

He wouldn’t know that that would be the last time he saw his wife alive.

* * *

**10.**

**Warnings:** major character death  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Peter

**Sleep well, sweet prince**

Once upon a time there was a girl with strawberry hair and glossy lips. Lydia her parents named her and beloved she was in all the land. The wisest of wise men could not match her wits. But then one day a wolf appeared in the woods and with wicked claws and fire eyes he hunted her and bit her flesh. A wound he ripped but heal she did, for teeth and claw could never pierce her heart. Three days she slept and dreamed of him. A boy he was as he came to her, tall and handsome with eyes so blue. "Save me, sweet girl," he spoke with a smile and kissed her pink lips. He gave her a flower and she awoke with a scream.

Her friends rejoiced when she rejoined their play, but her smiles now came slow and her eyes grew dim. The boy in her dreams had fire eyes now and his sweet, sweet smile cut like a knife. So she slipped on her cloak and went down to the stream. The dew covered grass cushioned her feet, no animal stirred as it swallowed all sound. Her fingers were sure and her gaze was sharp as she wove flowers so blue into her strawberry hair. 

She waited for him when the moon stood round in the sky and the air filled with spring. As the stars shone above he came to her. Half man and half beast he stepped out of the woods and bowed his head. She took him by the hand and led him inside, up the small steps and into her room.

By candlelight she took him to bed, pushed on his chest and straddled his hips. So different he looked from the boy in her dreams, wicked his grin and sharp his tongue. He gazed at her with wonder in his eyes before hunger inflamed the beast inside. The dress she wore was mossy green and she shuddered when his claws ripped through the silk. She gripped his shoulders as he disheveled her hair and licked at her mouth. His hands were rough and broad on her flesh. His claws were sharp but his teeth were blunt. They raked her skin but they left no marks. It was her who drew blood, biting his mouth and scratching his back. It was her who was out to hunt tonight, armed to the teeth with an soft, soft smile and a flinty heart. 

"Perfect, so perfect," he murmured as she rode him so hard, rode him until his voice grew gravelly and hoarse. She arched her back and rolled her hips, making it ache so good inside. Such sweet, sweet agony he caused in her. His fingers dug deep into her hips and his teeth snapped together when he spilled at last. He threw back his head and howled as she tore at his neck. Her teeth bit deep and her thighs held him close as black pulsed forth from his blue, blue eyes. She caught him as his body grew slack, life bleeding out as his breathing gave out. He looked young in her arms, like the boy in her dreams. Sweet and terrible his smile, coated in black. She stroked his hair and she kissed his cheek. "Sleep well, my sweet prince. You've taken your last bite of me."

* * *

**11.**

**Warnings:** bestiality  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

They fuck first, because Derek says the scent will help keep him anchored. Stiles isn't sure that's true, but he pushes Derek down on the bed and rides him until he comes all over Derek's stomach and Derek is spilling deep inside him.

*

They go out to the old Hale house and Stiles makes a circle of Mountain Ash, Derek standing naked in the center. Once it's closed Derek starts pacing, eyebrows drawn in concentration. Stiles watches, quiet.

When the shift begins Stiles stops breathing. It's amazing, terrifying; Derek's body shakes and twists and grows twice his normal size, black fur covering pale skin. Derek's eyes glow red, face contorting into a wolf-like snout, fangs sharp.

Stiles can't look away. Derek drops to all fours and walks forward; he stops in front of Stiles, staring at him with fully red eyes. Derek's Alpha form looks nothing like a regular wolf, huge and powerful and the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

He reaches out slowly and Derek huffs, nosing at his hand when it crosses the ash. Stiles draws in a sharp breath, fingers carding through silky fur, and Derek leans into his hand before stepping away. Stiles doesn't think, just follows him, stepping into the circle.

Derek growls and Stiles freezes, but then Derek is reaching out and carefully taking the open edge of Stiles' plaid shirt in his teeth, tugging him further in. He pushes his weight into Stiles and makes him go sprawling on the leaf-covered ground. Stiles stares up at Derek with wide eyes; he's not scared, but he is confused.

Derek starts nosing at the crotch of his jeans, rubbing his snout along Stiles' soft dick. Stiles lets out a strangled noise and tries to scramble back, but Derek presses one huge paw to his chest, holding him in place. He rubs his nose harder against Stiles' dick and Stiles flushes, feeling himself start to grow hard. He swallows; this was not part of the plan, but _fuck_ , he wants it.

"Okay," he says. "Just let me – I want to –"

Derek moves back and watches as Stiles undresses, his dick now achingly hard.

"How – I mean, what exactly –"

Derek nudges at his hip and Stiles moans, rolling over and lifting his ass in the air, spreading his knees. Derek moves behind him, snuffling at where Stiles' hole is still open and wet from earlier. His paws come down on either side of Stiles' head, huge body covering Stiles completely, and oh god, Derek's dick is bigger in this form too.

Stiles makes himself breathe as Derek pushes in, stretching him wider than he's ever been stretched before, filling him so full he thinks he might burst. Soft growls are echoing from above him, and Stiles is pretty sure his dick is hard enough to cut diamonds.

Stiles moans, and Derek must take that as permission because he starts snapping his hips, hard.

Stiles cries out, arms collapsing at the force. He is literally being fucked into the ground by a huge-ass werewolf, and it's the hottest thing that has ever happened to him. Derek's thrusts are wild and abandoned, animalistic, his claws digging into the dirt next to Stiles' face, and all Stiles can do is fucking take it.

Stiles almost chokes when he feels Derek's dick start to grow even bigger right at the base, tugging at Stiles' rim, and he's not sure why he didn't think this might happen. Derek has knotted him before, not every time but often enough, and Stiles groans as he thinks about being tied to him like this.

Derek slams inside one last time, shoving the still-growing knot in as hard as he can, and Stiles shouts a curse as he comes. His body shakes, dick jerking, coating the ground in strips of white. It's intense, his stretched out ass clenching around Derek's huge dick, knot pressing against his prostate and making his vision blur.

Above him, Derek pants loudly, and Stiles can feel every pulse of his dick as he fills him with come. He knows it won't end anytime soon, so he shifts, trying to lie down flat, and Derek carefully moves with him.

"I love you," Stiles says, and he's never said that before but he means it, oh god, he means it.

Derek whines, and snuffles along Stiles' jaw until he can lick at Stiles' mouth. Stiles laughs happily, and reaches up to scratch his fingers through Derek's fur.

* * *

**12.**

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Ten weeks.**

To Derek, ten weeks without Stiles, sounded like ten years, but Derek knew the summer internship was important. Stiles could have gone anywhere, but chose Derek and the pack. However, it sounded codependent, but they had never parted that long. 

But for Stiles, Derek packed the Jeep, and watched his love leave. 

 

Derek looked forward to their phone calls, where they would talk into the night, sometimes falling asleep listening to each other. But it still didn't help Derek miss Stiles consent presence.

 

Apparently, after two months of “moping”, his fed-up pack decided to intervene.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Saving my sanity,” Isaac turned on his laptop, “I told Stiles you'll be on Skype tonight. I'm setting you up before I leave, since you never Skype'd. He'll be on around nine.”

Derek passed the time doing mundane things, but still was at the laptop ten minutes early, waiting.

“Hey Sourwolf. Heard you're making the puppies lives miserable?” Stiles said in greeting. Normally Derek would have a comeback, however he choked on his words, Stiles was naked on his screen.

“Why are you...”

“I am trying so hard not to miss your touch,” Stiles confessed. “So I...”

Derek's next words surprised himself.

“Show me what you miss.”

Stiles directed his actions, placing two fingers on the pulse point behind his ear. “You like to start here,” Stiles tapped the area twice, “breathing in my scent, adding your own,” sliding fingers down his neck, toward his throat, “I love your open-mouth kisses on my skin. Your soft growls when I bare my neck.”

Stiles left hand brushed up his ribcage, as his right traveled down. “I miss when you mark me, each bite tingling with heat.”

Both hands met low on his chest, then traveled down his sides, stopping low on his abdomen. 

“Stiles, make me watch. Make yourself hard.”

“Okay, just...” Stiles readjusted himself low on the chair, both feet extended wide on the desk, displaying everything, from his semi-hard cock, to his tight hole. It was torture seeing Stiles so open, and still be hundreds of miles away.

“Touch your cock Stiles.”

Obeying, Stiles circled the base with his long fingers, slowly twisted up, then sliding down. With every stroke, Derek could see Stile's cock swell. The effect was equal on him.

“I wish this was your hand Derek, or shit, your mouth,” Stiles slowed his movement, reaching for a small bottle.

“Derek, I miss you slowly working me open with your fingers. Remember when you made me cum just by working my prostate? You milked me until every touch felt like electricity?” Stiles kept his monolog going, spreading lube on his fingers.

“Fuck.” Derek moaned, too far gone to not touch himself. Stiles didn't prepare himself often, Derek liked the control, but that didn't make watching any less erotic.

“Imagine how tight I am, it's been eight weeks since you fucked me hard.” Slipping one finger inside, Stiles’s whole body shivered. “Fuck, your fingers are so much thicker.”

“Work another in Stiles, open yourself for me.”

Stiles's middle finger follow the index, stretching his tight pink ring.

“Work them in farther, find that sweet spot,” Derek coaxed. Grabbing some lotion, Derek drizzled the cool gel in his hand, working himself harder watching Stiles wantonly screwed himself on his own hand.

Stiles called to Derek with an intake of air when he hit his prostate, jerking his body forward.  
“Only two fingers, I want you tight for me, and keep your hand off your cock, I want it leaking, from your fingers and my voice.”

Pulling his thighs wide, Stiles opened himself getting his long fingers in deeper.

“Good, show me how hard you want to cum for me. How hard you want my dick deep inside your ass.”

“Derek please,” Stiles begged.

“Not yet,” Derek worked himself faster, until he was rewarded with a few drops of pre-cum.

“Now Stiles, cum hard for me!”

Stiles hand flew to his dick. With hard jerking movements, it wasn't long until Stiles toes curled and he screamed Derek's name, spunk flying high.

A few quick twists of his cock-head, and Derek followed Stiles with a muffled grunt and the visual of Stiles, body twitching, fingers buried deep.

A visual that will be burned in Derek brain.

“Still with me Stiles?”

“Mmm? Derek that was...”

“I know. Tomorrow I'm buying a laptop.”

“Now you decide to join the twenty-first century?”

“You finally showed me an activity I'll enjoy.”

* * *

**13.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles Circus AU 

Today was the first time in their two years together as trapeze artists that Derek failed to catch Stiles. There’ve been some near misses but somehow, they’ve always managed to hang on to each other - Derek’s preternatural strength and reflexes snatching out at the last moment to snag some part of Stiles and keep him from falling; Stiles lithe flexibility and tensile strength reaching and grabbing Derek impossibly. 

Today Derek’s arms lashed out, hands grasping and instead of catching Stiles, his grip slipped; Stiles reached back and missed. Stiles went into a stomach churning pinwheel fall, off center of the net. He landed hard - almost off the mat on the ribbing, bouncing once and then flopping over the side, pitching the remaining four feet to the ground. 

He’s got bright blue, purple and red bruising blossoming across his ribs and back, and the inside of his right armpit. Deaton said he’s lucky nothing is broken. Stiles smiles, a little doped up on painkillers and left over adrenaline. He turns to Derek and says, "Lucky you. You break it, you buy it."

After Deaton leaves their makeshift medical tent, Derek stands there, staring down at Stiles and he _is_ lucky, he’s _so_ lucky because Stiles loves him and Stiles trusts him and when he felt Stiles slipping through his fingers and saw him falling, falling, long limbs flailing and twisting as he tried to get himself more over the net, even in mid air, Derek felt like just letting go of the bar and falling after him. 

He leans over Stiles, caging him with his arms and Stiles looks up at him, a little confused, a little dopey from the drugs, but open and relaxed. Derek kisses him soft, slow and wet, licking into Stiles’ mouth - his perfect bow shaped mouth. Derek sucks on Stiles’ upper lip, working it between his teeth and Stiles exhales a quiet moan, pulling back a little to say, "hey, hey, it’s okay." Derek skates his fingertips over Stiles collarbone, then chest, then down his side, fingers barely touching where he knows the bruises are flowering bright and hot. Stiles makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat when Derek slips his fingers into Stiles thin, worn gymnastic leotard and starts palming Stiles dick with slow, careful circles. 

"Let me, let me," Derek whispers against Stiles lips, tongue darting out to lick at Stiles’. He needs this, Derek _needs_ this, needs to hear Stiles soft whimper and quiet huff of air and then his hitching breath when Derek teases the slit of his cock. He needs to feel Stiles breathing increase, hear his heart speed up as Derek traces a fingernail over the most sensitive spot on the underside of Stiles’ cock. He needs to feel Stiles’ fingers tangling in his hair, pulling lightly. Needs to see Stiles bite his lip and hear him groan when Derek squeezes out a fat drop of pre-come and swirls it around the head, just the way Stiles likes. Derek bends down, teeth and lips latching onto the bony protrusion of Stiles’ collarbone and he can’t fucking _believe_ that all of Stiles’ bones are still intact after that fall. He bites down, needing to feel the solid resistance of Stiles’ bones and Stiles keens, gasps and Derek squeezes a little bit harder on Stiles’ dick. Derek should stop for lube or to lick his hand or something but he can’t. He laves at the indentations his teeth have made in Stiles skin, feeling sorry and regretful for adding to the multitude of marks on Stiles’ pale flesh. He keeps jacking Stiles firmly, hearing the tell-tale way Stiles’ breathing changes right before comes. He covers Stiles’ mouth with his own again, thrusting his tongue in deep and hard, wanting to crawl inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ hips hitch up and Derek squeezes a little harder, the way Stiles likes and then Derek teases at the slit again and Stiles freezes up and comes over Derek’s hand, panting in Derek’s mouth, saying Derek’s name and it’s perfect, it’s perfect, he’s perfect. Derek smears Stiles’ come over his dick, wringing out the last drops and Stiles whimpers. He’s Derek’s and he’s alive and he’s perfect.

* * *

**14.**

**Warnings:** Underage, non-consensual voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles, Peter

"These children truly have no idea what they're doing," Peter says, tossing his headphones to the side, hand outstretched to close the lid of his laptop.

It's been over a year since his re-birth, but he's still banned from pack meetings when Lydia Martin is in attendance. Instead, he has to sit in his apartment across the hall from Derek's, trying to eavesdrop, waiting for his nephew to include him in their plans, as if he doesn't have a lifetime of knowledge and experience that could be useful against their latest foe.

But Peter has never been one to sit idly by. He hoped the camera he'd hidden in Derek's living room would give him insight into the inner workings of Derek's motley band of misfits, but this inaugural run has proven to be anything but fruitful.

Only the sight of Stiles lingering by the couch gives him pause. He watches the group shuffle out of sight, hears Derek's door slam closed and several sets of footsteps stomp down the stairs, then refocuses on the activity on his screen.

Putting his earbuds back in, he turns the sound all the way up, relieved he's finally going to get some potentially useful information. Peter wonders what Stiles has dug up that he didn't want to share with the rest of the pack. What he doesn't expect to see is Stiles stalk over to Derek, pull him close and practically attack his mouth with his own.

"Well, well," Peter says, scooting down on the couch into a more comfortable position.

Stiles kisses like Peter's always thought he would, in a frenzy of movement, hands everywhere, as if he can't decide what to kiss or touch or taste first. The way Derek immediately wraps his arms around Stiles lets Peter know this isn't a new development, and he wonders how he never noticed before. But then Derek's pack is made up of horny, attractive teenagers, so a cloud of lust perpetually hangs in the air in Derek's loft; Peter's just failed to realize who's responsible for it.

He can vaguely hear little moans and grunts, a sharp gasp of breath when Stiles pushes Derek down onto the couch, settling on the floor in front of him, but imagination is a wonderful thing and he lets his mind fill in the gaps.

Mimicking Stiles' actions, he unzips his jeans as Stiles undoes Derek's, pulling them down his thighs just far enough to get his hardening cock out, spreading his legs as wide as his jeans will allow. He spits into his palm, imagines Stiles' warm, wet hand wrapping around him, and settles into a quick rhythm to match Stiles' movements, giving his balls a rough squeeze.

Stiles' cheeks are flushed, teeth biting into kiss swollen lips, tongue peeking out while he pants and squirms to rub himself against Derek's leg, entirely focused on the task at hand. Peter imagines hot bursts of breath hitting his own overheated skin and inhales deeply, recalling the sharp tang of Stiles' scent from all those months ago in the parking garage, a heady mix of what he likes to think was fear and lust. Heat coils in his belly when he sees Derek's hips begin to hitch in little jerky movements.

"Come on, come on," Stiles says, twisting his wrist around the head of Derek's cock, picking up speed. His hand disappears between Derek's legs, and out of sight of Peter's camera, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what Stiles is doing.

Derek shouts when he comes a minute later, Peter following closely behind, spilling over his fist when Stiles dips his head down and takes the head of Derek's cock between his lips, into what Peter is certain to be warm, wet heaven. He's still catching his breath when Stiles unzips himself and climbs into Derek's lap.

"Okay, my turn, and make it quick. I still have a curfew, you know," Stiles says, leaning in and baring his neck to Derek.

Lacking the recovery time of a teenager and lazy with his own orgasm, Peter puts his laptop aside, content to watch this time, certain he'll put the recording to good use later. He congratulates himself on the success of his surveillance setup and makes a mental note to get a second camera for Derek's bedroom. He may not have gotten the information he expected, but all in all, the evening's events have been...enlightening.

* * *

**15.**

**Warnings:** temporary major character death, graphic violence  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

The first time Stiles died, he was alone.

Spread out on the forest floor, arrow sticking out of his chest, his mouth filled with blood, thick and warm on his tongue. Amidst the pain and the panic, he felt the slowing thump of his heart and the sluggish pulse of arterial blood pooling beneath him on the moonlight-dappled ground. Frothy red bubbles spilled from his lips as he choked and struggled to breathe while fear and resignation welled within him. Body in agony, fingers twitching feebly in the dirt, Stiles allowed his eyes to flutter closed and took that last peaceful gasp.

-

Stiles awoke.

He inhaled sharply, back arching, eyes flying open as he writhed on the dusty, broken floor of the Hale house. He flailed wildly, but managed to convince his uncoordinated limbs to push his body into a sitting position. Once upright, he had his arms full of Scott. Scott hugged him tight, buried his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and shook.

“It worked,” he said in disbelief. “You’re alright!”

Stiles patted Scott’s back as he looked around the room. No one would meet his gaze, not even Peter who took a slow uneven step back. Derek was kneeling next to him, fingers clasped like iron around Stiles’ wrist, eyes glowing _blue._ There was a distinct smell of sulfur, a bottle of mountain ash nearby, and when Stiles disengaged from Scott’s arms, he looked down at his ruined shirt and saw the small healed divot where a wound should’ve been.

He sucked in a breath.

“What did you do?”

No one answered.

-

After a week Stiles knew something was wrong. He was alive but… defective. He pushed open the door to Derek’s loft, let himself in and followed the sounds of cooking to the kitchen. Stiles pulled out a chair, the legs scraping on the hardwood.

Derek startled and dropped the pot of macaroni, noodles erupting across the floor.

“How did you not hear me?” Stiles asked.

Derek stared for a moment then dropped to his knees, scooping up the mess.

“Why can’t Scott look at me? Why does Boyd flinch when I touch him? Why can’t Isaac stay in the same room with me for five minutes?”

Derek stood, dumped his ruined dinner in the sink.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Stiles swallowed. His throat clicked. “Hollowed out.”

Derek looked away, ran his fingers over the worn countertop, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“It’s temporary, isn’t it?”

A sharp nod.

“How long do I have?”

“Days. Months. Years. As long as the magic holds.”

Stiles stood suddenly, knocking over his chair. “You should have told me! Someone should have told me! I _died_ , Derek. Died!”

“I know!” Derek shouted herding Stiles backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall, Derek a wall of heat in front of him. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’ and breathed. “I know.”

He cupped Stiles face in his hands reverently, eyes sharp on Stiles’ features, then he surged forward and kissed him, hard, desperate. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, hauled him closer, kissed and bit at Derek’s lips, filled himself up with the taste and the heat.

They stumbled to the bed, shedding clothes as they went, Derek’s claws raking across Stiles’ skin as he gasped Stiles’ name over and over like a prayer.

When Derek bent him over, slid into him thick and hard, Stiles reveled in the stretch, the pleasure-pain of too much too fast, the sensation of his breath being punched out with each fierce thrust, because it meant he was alive and he wasn’t empty anymore. Derek panted against the back of Stiles’ neck, his hands bruising on Stiles’ hips. He fucked Stiles like he was terrified Stiles would disappear from beneath him - urgent, wild, primal. Stiles was already close, dick dripping pre-come onto the sheets, but he held on as long as he could, until Derek stripped Stiles’ dick with a lube-slicked hand. Stiles came with a cry, clenching around Derek’s cock as Derek ground his hips against Stiles’ ass. Derek growled when he came, bit the nape of Stiles’ neck.

After, Derek clung to Stiles like death, his body curled around him, his hand over the place where the arrow had pierced Stiles’ flesh. Stiles laid there, inhaled the scent of sex and sweat and decided he would take what Derek could offer, fill himself up with what he could, for as long as time allowed.

* * *

**16.**

**Warnings:** underage, mild dom/sub fantasies  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Stiles; Erica/Allison

Erica likes her body - an accomplishment for any teenager, but especially one who had this very body turn on her before. She likes it even more now when it changed from a cage to an instrument, one that answers to her with no risk of disobedience. She likes that she gets to learn it anew, now that she has unwavering control over it.

She just couldn't wait to test for the first time how all of this translates into touching herself. And then again. And again.  
When she travels the expanse of her own bare stomach and cups the weight of her breasts, Erica rarely thinks about boys she knows. It's too difficult to separate the thought of their bodies with hers from the memories of way they'd laugh at her after the seizures, so she disregards most of them. Sometimes she fingers herself thinking about Stiles, and how he'd be tentative and shy, touch her neck, collarbones, ribs, thighs before he dared to slip his long fingers where she's wet (she traces these imaginary paths with her own hands).

After the lab incident, spread out on her bed and naked, proud of how she likes herself naked, Erica tries to think about Scott. Maybe she’s supposed to think about Scott, isn't that what Derek ordered? But by the time she's absentmindedly stroking over her dark pebbled nipples with her thumbs she's back to Stiles. 

Would he fuck her differently now that he's angry? Would his touch be more harsh? Erica spasms one hand over her breast, harder than she ever does, and finds out that it feels good, surprisingly good, pain nothing but an exciting zing.

She keeps releasing and squeezing one breast, and uses the other hand to rake fingernails over her ribs. Erica doesn't think Stiles would do this, but it makes her back arch and the dull pulse in her clit speed up, so she keeps going. The same nails ? barely controlled claws ? feel just this side of too intense on the inside of her thighs, and then very carefully tracing outside her labia. Something about this feels off, but Erica's too excited by her new discovery to stop. She dips her finger in, between the soft, wet folds, and then follows the easy slide all the way in. She shifts her hips, trying to push further, suddenly frustrated and overheated. She pumps her finger, sharp and not at all teasing, adds another one after just a moment, rolls and pinches a nipple, makes a third finger join the two in her pussy.

A small sound punctuates the steady rise and fall of her harsh breathing and Erica thinks that no, Stiles wouldn't do that. He wouldn't dare touch her like that.

She's tired of that imaginary Stiles, doesn't want to be treated like she can break again at any moment even by her own fantasy. She thinks of different eyes on her, angry ones, and when she uses her thumb to press down on her clit, Erica imagines it’s Allison Argent doing these things to her. 

She would, she would ? Erica rubs tight circles with her thumb, wiggles her hips away from the sensation of too much but at the same time speeds her fingers up. She has all those images of Allison kneeling over her, biting and sucking flesh between her teeth, not at all playful but punishing. Erica doesn't want to come, tries to push the orgasm away at the same time the Allison of her imagination drives unrelenting fingers into her, orders her to give it up. 

Erica's so wet her fingers almost slip, don't feel as painful as she'd like them to be. She clenches the hand on her breast to make up for it, deep into the soft flesh, and comes with a choked sound that isn't a moan but rather a whimper. The aftershocks of the orgasm keep coming like waves, each punctuated with an ache of her overstimulated clit. Pulling fingers out of her pussy makes Erica bite her lips.

Erica lays in her bed, her hand wet with her own juices resting carelessly on her stomach. She can't wait to try this again. And then again. And again.

* * *

**17.**

**Warnings:** blood (brief mention, biting), infidelity to pack  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Isaac

Isaac rubs the inside of his thigh absent-mindedly. With Derek being his alpha, the thought of surrendering to Peter shouldn't cross his mind.

But Peter has a way of disturbing Isaac's thoughts.

Peter had challenged Derek only once in all the years since his return. Claws out, eyes wild, nephew and uncle had been poised to rip out each other's throats before the pack intervened. That was the first time Isaac caught a glimpse of Peter's teeth, razor sharp and glinting in the moonlight.

Since then Peter eyes him from the shadows, smiles when Derek isn't looking, whispers his intentions in his ear. _You can join me instead. All it takes is the bite._

Isaac's hand drifts from his thigh to his neck, where the scar of Derek's bite, the one that had turned him, pulses still in his skin. On the nights when Derek takes him into his bed and fucks him slow and hard, he doesn't think of anyone else. But those nights are few.

Isaac shifts on the floor mat and Erica stirs. Her head rests on his stomach, and Boyd sleeps wrapped around her in a heavy line. Even with Derek out with Stiles, they are content. The house silently surrounds them in their dreams.

A noise down below. Isaac sniffs. It's Peter's scent. He fights the urge to shift, instead slipping out from under Erica, who turns into Boyd's embrace and kisses him sleepily. Isaac, underwear-clad, tip-toes down creaky stairs and glimpses a flash of light and a smile.

"Peter--"

Strong hands grip his shoulders and drag him into the dining room, the unexpected proximity of the muscled body forcing him to grip the table behind him for support.

"I've been waiting for this chance for so long. How dare my nephew leave his pups unattended?" Peter caresses the mark on Isaac's neck.

"I--"

"Hush," Peter says, holding a finger to his lips. "You've already told me so much these past years, and I'm ready to give you my reply."

Isaac's elbows give out, just a little, and he sags into Peter's embrace.

Peter sniffs at the hollow of his throat. "Tell me, do I smell like a beta to you?" His hand travels up Isaac's flank, where even now disobedient hair is blooming.

Isaac shakes his head.

"Yet so it is, until I can build a pack of my own. If I give you my bite," and here Peter's teeth graze Isaac's neck, "you will belong to me. I would never treat you like he does, abandoning you while he plays at being human. I would keep you in my bed, pet. Always." Peter's arm tightens threateningly around his waist. "Will you take it?"

"Please," Isaac begs. The word sounds as a desperate cry, not any word of human language.

Peter smiles. He lifts Isaac onto the table and crawls over him, knocking a basket of apples to the floor. Isaac lies down to accommodate Peter's purpose and opens himself to the demanding tongue that searches between his lips and deprives him of breath. The moon is out tonight, and Derek is far away, too occupied to sense the intrusion. Would he come if he knew, would he put a stop to this? Peter's rough clothes chafe against Isaac's unprotected skin.

"You're such a beautiful wolf." His fingers are twisted tight in Isaac's curls. 

Isaac wraps a leg around Peter's waist and shifts his hips, the weight of Peter settling more firmly between his legs. If he could hold himself wider, he would.

Peter nips down Isaac's stomach, teasing, and takes him in his mouth, growling around his cock when Isaac scratches red welts into his shoulders. He sucks until he's pleased himself and then, withdrawing to sit on folded knees, he hauls Isaac's ass off the table. Isaac digs his heels into Peter's shoulders as Peter licks him roughly, cajoling him open wide enough to slip in his tongue. His teeth scrape Isaac's skin, his hands too tight around his hips.

"Go on. Let them hear."

Isaac howls.

There's a shift in the air. Peter kisses along his thigh. Isaac flails for something to grasp when Peter's teeth dig into the tender pocket of flesh, but there's nothing except the hard wood of the table he's lying on. He cries out as his orgasm takes him in hard, wrenching waves and spills over his stomach.

Peter smiles. Even in the dark Isaac can see his bloodied fangs. "You smell like mine."

* * *

**18.**

**Pairing:** Danny/Stiles

It isn't the broken bones, the gaping wounds, the deep cuts. They hurt like a bitch, but somehow, that concentration of pain makes them easier to deal with. It is the bumps, the bruises, the nagging cuts that truly get under his skin. They are the things that linger, festering until his life becomes a constant ache of things that are _wrong_ , of things that never fully heal, crusted blood scabbed over quickly by new cuts.

He is tired of it.

He aches all over, bone-tired and his body just as battered, but he manages to live long enough to come home, and that's good enough for now, right? The house is still, his father asleep on the couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him.

Festering.

He clenches his jaw and forces his way up the stairs, but there is a light in his bedroom and when he walks in, Danny is sitting on his bed, one of his comic books lying open on his lap, still on the first page.

"Your dad let me in," he says just as Stiles asks what he's doing there. He looks up at Stiles and curses. "Fuck, what _happened_?"

"You should've seen the other guy," Stiles tries, but when he fails to coax even a half-smile from Danny: "Wendigo."

"Stiles--" 

"I'm fine, honest, it's just a few things--"

"I came to apologize."

It's weird, when Danny's hands cup his cheeks, tender and hesitant. Stiles doesn't know if it's worse when he meets Danny's gaze because it's a different kind of gutting, like the air knocked out of him and every physical pain replaced by an awful sort of regret twisting into his chest, the echo of the things he shouted earlier coming back to haunt him. "Danny, _I'm_ sorry."

"You're right," Danny says. "I _don't_ know everything, and sometimes I don't understand why you would-- but whether you like it or not I'm part of it too, I _should_ be part of you too--"

Stiles kisses him, because he's biting his lips in that way that makes Stiles want to. "I know," he tells him. "I know, I'm sorry, Danny I fucked up, I didn't mean what I said--"

"Just don't run off," Danny murmurs, lips soft against Stiles's. "Don't walk away mad, don't--"

"I promise," Stiles says, and Danny doesn't finish his sentence because maybe he doesn't want to say it, and Stiles sure as hell doesn't want to hear it. Instead he curls his fingers against Danny's shirt, kissing him soundly even as his head begins to throb, as his body cries from exhaustion.

"Stiles--"

"Please, Danny, just--" 

And maybe Danny hears the desperation there, maybe he wants it just as bad, but his hands are on Stiles's hips, fingers gentle as they skim the waistband of Stiles's jeans, nearly reverent as he slips them off Stiles. 

"What?" he asks when Stiles chuckles.

"I'm not made of _china_ , dude, I can handle it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Danny says, and Stiles swallows the lump in his throat, lets Danny touch him like he's glass, like he's precious. He lets him press ghost kisses on his bruises, feather-light touches on his cuts. "Jesus, Stiles--"

Stiles tries to crack a joke about his Adonis physique, but his sarcasm falters against Danny's actual concern. "It's fine," he says, pulling Danny up for a kiss, his own hands flat against the muscles on Danny's body, moving lower until he's stroking Danny's cock. "It'll heal, sooner or later."

"Stiles--"

"You know," he says meaningfully, punctuating each word with a stroke, a squeeze, a harder grip, "I always find it helps when I'm distracted."

"You're crazy," Danny tells him, but he kisses him again-- on his lips, deep and hungry-- on his neck, wet and playful-- on his chest, with a hint of teeth--

"Oh my _god_ , Danny--" Stiles whimpers, fingers tight against Danny. Danny's mouth finds his hips, the heat of his breath a second's warning before he's got Stiles's cock in his mouth, wet tongue laving the length of it, lips tight around it as Danny hollows his cheeks, careful, meticulous, enough to drive Stiles to a begging mess. 

Later, when Danny presses barely wet fingers in him, Stiles will wince, but shake his head at Danny's concern and tell him to continue.

There are some aches worth having. They are the ones that tell him what's real.

* * *

**19.**

**Warnings:** Dub-Con (Bane-laced Tequila + Bad Judgement = Drunken Shenanigans)  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Allison

It'd been years since he'd last been in a dive like this. One of those seedy highway bars with too much neon, sticky floors, and a thick haze of smoke hanging in the air. The music was a mindless thrumming of bass and insistent vibration to Derek at this point, all his senses blissfully muffled so that everything seemed to swim in a colorful haze around him. He knew he was more than a little drunk, more than a little fucked up on shots from a bottle of tequila with a careful mixture of herbs floating in the bottom of the bottle. He couldn't really taste the grit of it anymore. Didn’t care until the terrifyingly familiar scent of jasmine suddenly flooded his nose as a woman slid onto the stool next to him.

Young, brunette, and Kate was _dead_ \-- but she looked so much like her...

The faint scent of lithium grease clung to her hands and he could see the tell-tale outline of a taser hidden in her jacket and a knife in her boot. A hunter then and a stupid one if her glazed eyes were any indication. Flush with alcohol and just barely steady on her feet. The urge to lash out hit him then, like a buckshot to the chest. He turned away to hide the sudden blood red gleam of his eyes but there was no mistaking the cracking of wood under his suddenly sharp nails.

She went still for a second and then bought him a drink.

**********

"I'll hurt you." He finally said, an hour later. Grasping at some last minute form of self-preservation. The urge to rend and rut was growing with every nervous flutter of her hands and dizzying burn of laced alcohol.

It'd been so _long_...

"I know." she answered, knocking back one last shot.

She must not do this often.

They stumbled out the back door together, didn’t look too closely at each other. He couldn’t see clearly with the way the world was warping in front of his eyes. Relying mostly on scent and sound to guide him until they stopped just before reaching the brightly lit parking lot.

He waited, distracted by rabbit-quick beating of her heart and the heat of her body next to his.

"Do you have a pack?" She finally asked.

Flashes of Erica and Boyd leaving, the brightening of Isaac's face with Scott and Deaton, Jackson's sneer, and Peter's mocking smirk came to mind.

"No." He ground out with a wounded growl.

She didn't say anything, but instead slowly started walking backwards toward the forested area behind the bar, clumsily undoing the buttons of her blouse as she went.

"Bite me and I’ll kill you." She slurred decisively, and took off.

A satisfied rumble built in his chest in response and Derek gave chase. 

**********

She was poised to ride him right there in the mud. The sinuous curve of her body outlined by moonlight, and her breasts bare and still damp from his mouth. Their clothes were scattered around them haphazardly and his fingers were still sloppy-wet when they finally figured each other out. Heads cleared just enough from the chill spring air to be dangerous.

They moved at the same time, to haphazardly stab and rend despite the tequila weighing down their limbs. To harm. All it really managed to do was force her body down and his cock up with an obscene smack of flesh against flesh. Derek grit his teeth at the hot-wet pleasure of it and moved to snap at her throat with his teeth, still too compromised by wolfsbane to be anything but human-weak. Allison even managed to get a hand in his hair and pull hard enough that he was forced back, unable to get a fang in.

Half-heartedly they fought. Blood, sweat, and mud coating their bodies and soiling the flimsy fabric of her skirt. Every furious buck of his body and vicious thrash of hers just increased the ache building between them. It rose, crested, and burst through the pathetic barrier of their self control until her hips worked over him in desperate, vicious circles that she seemed helpless to stop. The demanding friction of it made his cock spit and throb until the air was alive with the scent of sex and shame.

“Derek... **_Derek_**....!”

He roared, clawing and coming ‘til both their thighs were wet with it and Allison cried out her pleasure in heaving gasps and pained sobs against his shoulder.

* * *

**20.**

**Warnings:** Watersports, knotting  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Stiles

Let’s just say that it’s summer. And it’s hot. And Stiles had no idea Peter saw his browser history, or he would have been suspicious of how much care the man put into him not getting dehydrated.

He’s just about to head for the bathroom when Peter grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, it turns filthy quickly and the next moment he’s in the man’s lap, having his tongue sucked at. Peter’s hand moves under his shirt and Stiles can’t help the moan that leaves him, because there’s never enough of Peter touching him.

“Mm, you smell...” the werewolf comments, but it isn't exactly a complaint, considering how he buries his face in Stiles neck sniffing, then there’s a tongue lapping away at the beads of perspiration at the base of his throat. Stiles doesn't put up a fight when Peter makes quick work of getting him naked. It’s hot anyway.

They end up on the floor with Stiles’ ass in the air being rimmed within an inch of his life, and seriously, it should be disgusting, but who is he to take Peter’s fun away?

The older man doesn't waste much time preparing him with the lube he magicked out of nowhere - he doesn't even need much after Peter’s tongue and the regular use of the last few days since he’s been back from college - and then Peter’s pushing in, his thick cock punching a groan out of Stiles, even before the knot forms.

Peter is not gentle, and Stiles doesn't need him to, but he isn't aware of that lick of extra tension until he feels Peter’s dick swell in him; the stretch familiar but slightly painful even after all this time. It’s only when they are completely stuck together - and his mate is over that first wave of orgasm that makes him grunt like an actual animal - when Peter slides a hand down his chest to his stomach and pushes lightly at his lower belly that he feels it...

He really has to piss. The knot is pushing at his bladder on the inside and there’s no way he can make it to the bathroom like this. The mere thought that Peter planned all this; that he kept him drinking all night to make him full, and then got him in this utterly helpless position sends Stiles’s heart fluttering with adrenalin.

“Peter...” he’s voice is breathy, half from desperation, half from excitement and he can practically feel his mate’s smirk against the back of his neck as Peter pushes harder on his stomach.

“Yes, Sties? What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t beli...” He breaks off on a moan, because Peter abandoned his belly for taking his cock in his hand - it’s mostly soft from the pain of taking the knot - and is teasing his slit, making his whole body tingle with something between torture and pleasure. 

“I have to... I can’t...” He rarely loses his coherence, even during sex, but this is something else. He’s embarrassed and humiliated and so unbelievably turned on that there are just no words...

Peter straightens up behind him, the sweat on Stiles’s back suddenly cooling, and rolls his hips, making the knot nudge at his insides, and he can’t help it, he really can’t keep his dick from leaking a few drops of piss. He groans as Peter hums in encouragement, bringing his other hand to his stomach and _pushing_.

Stiles’s pretty sure he sobs a bit as he hears the first splash of urine hit the hardwood floor, but it’s all swallowed in the enormous wave of relief rolling over him; he collapses to his elbows as the pool of warm piss grows under him and his bladder empties itself. He might even black out for a second, because the next thing he knows, Peter is working his dick, his hand wet with his release and Stiles is getting hard so fast he feels dizzy with it.

“Oh my, look at that! What a nasty little bitch you are. No impulse control whatsoever... Just a cock in your ass and you’re already peeing everywhere. What a mess you made, Stiles, you can’t even be trusted not to wet yourself...”

And that’s it. That all it takes to push him over the edge; his vision whites out and he’s coming so hard it _hurts_ with Peter’s chuckling fading into the background of his consciousness…

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**21.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

The moment Stiles steps on the stage, Derek senses the anxiousness laced with a little fear. Not that the crowd can tell, but Stiles' heart is pounding and he's taking deep breaths while he waits for the music to start.

Derek moves away from his usual bouncer post near the bar at the back of the club. On a normal night, he keeps watch to make sure the rowdy customers at _Peter's Place_ , the local strip joint, don't harass Stiles too much. He's a friendly yet way too flirty bartender that never dances … until tonight. And only because he agreed to after nearly everyone -- regulars, friends, the usual strippers -- begged him to for the charity event being hosted.

Tonight, Derek gets closer to the stage, scowling when something stupid from the Top 40s starts playing. The smell of lust in the room grows as Stiles moves his hips to the beat. Catcalls begin to rise from the crowd, and excited screams erupt when Stiles playfully tugs at the zipper of his hoodie.

Derek's claws inch out. Digging them into his palm, the pain is a reminder to keep his calm. They had talked about this.

Stiles dances in a series of spastic yet impressive moves -- that one learned from Boyd, that one from Jackson, and that is definitely Danny's. It's an odd mix of styles, but with a flash of his boyish grin and increasingly bared skin, Stiles has them all lapping it up. He relaxes into the routine, flows with the music, feeding off the energy and excitement of the crowd.

Stiles laughs as they scream louder when he pulls off his tearaway pants. He turns and shakes his ass -- Derek knows it's solely for him.

There are twin paw prints painted in silver on the back of Stiles' red boxer briefs. 

Derek rolls his eyes but grins, feeling more comfortable with it. He only tenses again when Stiles does -- an excited young woman reaches over, tucking a bill into Stiles' briefs.

Stiles freezes, momentarily alarmed, but acts like he's done this a million times instead of never, sliding along and accepting more money. It _is_ the point but Derek still swallows back the urge to tear into someone, anyone, for touching Stiles.

When the song thumps its final beat, there's pure relief on Stiles' face. He laughs with the enthusiastic crowd, pulling bills out of his underwear, and dumps the money into the big bin at stage left with the rest of the donations. He waves one last time over his shoulder, disappearing backstage.

Derek immediately follows and finds Stiles alone in the very back office. 

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Stiles laughs breathlessly. "In front of all those people. Can't believe I actually -- _umph_."

Derek pushes him against the desk, takes Stiles' face between his hands, planting a hard kiss against his mouth. Stiles moans into it, relaxes like he hasn't since the start of that stupid song.

"Oh, yeah," he says, nipping at Derek's bottom lip, "you liked that."

"No," Derek says, "I really didn't," and shoves a hand into Stiles' boxers. Stiles' hips buck, reminding Derek of a particular dance move, and now that it's only for him, it's a complete turn-on.

Derek's teeth drag over Stiles' collarbones, and he tugs on his cock in the way that drives Stiles wild every time they're being fast and desperate while hiding in the back of the club. Stiles doesn't even wait to come before he's pulling out Derek's cock too, lining them up so that he can jerk them off together. Derek's palms rest on Stiles' rib cage, blunt nails digging in. They kiss, a crush of wet warm mouths.

Derek comes first, shooting all over Stiles' stomach. He slides his hand through the mess first, making the slip-slide of jerking Stiles off all the smoother. After Stiles comes in Derek's hand, Derek rubs their mixture together back over Stiles' stomach, his hips, wipes it off in the trail of hair between his navel and cock.

"Time to get back behind the bar," Derek says, smirking. "They're waiting for you."

"Yeah, smelling like come," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose even as he leaves it, pulling his shirt back over his head.

"Smelling like us."

Stiles freezes in spot, but a grin spreads across his face. "You," he says, "definitely deserve a private lap dance later."

Now _that_ was a Stiles dance Derek could deal with.

* * *

**22.**

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

Derek gapped, his jaw dropping involuntarily and a drawn out whimper was freed from his bruised lips. He was trembling slightly, his hands flexing in the fabric of the sheets on the bed beneath him. His legs were drawn up tightly to his chest, toes curling, muscles straining. He rocked his hips down pathetically, wanting more, desperate for it.  
For Stiles.

Stiles watched Derek through darkened eyes, his vision sharp where Derek’s was blurred. He couldn’t help but feel powerful, strong, now that he had managed to reduce Derek, the alpha, to his shaking wreck; to a place where he was no long in control. Stiles smirked when Derek’s eyes flashed between red and hazel in quick succession. And all it took was one hand.

Teasingly, Stiles twisted his fist inside Derek, watching the stretch of his red rim, wet, as it clenched around him. Derek whined and tried to push down harder, to get Stiles in deeper. Stiles used his free hand to run soothing across Derek’s thighs, the dusting of dark hair standing up on end, as if trying to reach for the contact.

He made soothing noises. “That’s it Derek. It’s okay. You’re good – fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped out, not entirely believing that was his voice, “I can’t even – you’re just taking it. All of it. You’re so stretched.” He dipped his head to lick along the sore muscle, and Derek let out a sob, broken and pleading that only made Stiles’ break out into a grin. He licked it once more pointedly, before pulling away, rolling his knuckles and pressing firmly against the walls of his ass.

“Fuck, Stiles…” Derek cried out, his usual stoic attitude completely lost. He was too strung out, too wired to even think that this was a bad idea, to think about how vulnerable he was. All he knew was the wonderfulness of the stretch, the pain and pleasure – it was like nothing he had ever felt before - and the look on Stiles’ face that was stupidly beautiful, his pupils dilated and cheeks flushed and a determined look on his face. 

Stiles shushed him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he assured. He waited a moment, one long tense moment that had Derek wriggling and muttering complains at the lack of movement, before he, pointedly, thrust his fist forward – and Derek shouted out, back bowing off the bed at the unexpected action.

Stiles didn’t stop, his gaze was hunger as he took in every moment, loving the way Derek shook even more when Stiles pushed forward and how his cock twitched and leaked heavily onto his stomach on the withdraw. Fuck, it looked so good. Stiles wrapped his hand around his bare cock and rutted against the seal furiously. He stopped himself quickly, when he got too close. He wouldn’t come yet. No. Not until Derek had fallen to pieces around him.

He reluctantly moved his hand away from his cock and placed the hand firmly onto Derek’s thigh. Stiles then leant forward to lick roughly at the head of Derek’s cock, moaning at the tangy taste that seemed to explode across his already heightened senses. He cleaned Derek’s stomach greedily, loving the feeling of the muscles tensing beneath his tongue, and moved to suck pleasantly at Derek’s cock head. He looked up from his position and pointedly pushed firmly against Derek’s prostate. 

Stiles wanted Derek to cum, wanted to taste him, and he wasn’t disappointed. Derek came with a sob, voice hoarse, his body thoroughly ruined with shakes and red with pleasure and heat. Derek had never come so hard in his life. His vision went white, his ears rung and…he couldn’t even describe it. He just knew that it was the best thing he’d ever experienced. And it wasn’t because of the stretch or the fact he was finally at a point where he didn’t need to think, didn’t need to worry. No, it was because it was Stiles. His Stiles – brilliant and smart and someone he trusted to take care of him, to be in this vulnerable state around. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, and Derek watched through lidded eyes, far too sated to actually move, as Stiles jerked himself off furiously and came across Derek’s stomach. The man let out a low hum at the first hit of the warm cum and then seemed to bask in it. If he could move his hands, Stiles had no doubt he would rub it into his skin.

Stiles dropped onto the bed with a slight tremble to his hand and pressed himself firmly against Derek’s chest, arms draping over Derek’s shoulders and one hand, the one still wet with lube, reached up to run through Derek’s sweat soaked hair. Stiles dropped a kiss to the man’s swollen lips.

“Who said you wouldn’t like fisting?” Stiles joked out hoarsely, his grin full of satisfaction.

Derek stopped the smug expression that was beginning to form of his tired face by rearing up and stealing a kiss.

* * *

**23.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

By the time Stiles put the jeep into park, Derek was already waiting on the front porch of the rebuilt Hale house. “I didn’t know it was possible, man, but I think you’ve gotten even more muscly,” said Stiles as they made their way towards the house. He poked at Derek’s chest. “Yup, definitely muscle.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist and put it down. “How was the drive?” 

“Long. Boring. I contemplated putting you on speaker and jerking off to make it more interesting,” Stiles replied with a grin. 

Closing the door behind them, Stiles made his way towards the massive couch in the common area. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” Derek grunted.

Stiles sunk into the couch with a wince and started kicking off his left shoe, “Quick, go put a sock on the door before they get back!”

Before Stiles managed to remove his sock, Derek moved in front of him, flared his nostrils, and pushed Stiles back into the sofa. “You’re hurt,” said Derek as he started unzipping Stiles’ pants.

“Woah! Dude!” cried Stiles as he fought to keep his pants up. “It’s nothing!”

“If it’s nothing, then let me see,” Derek growled. 

“You’re going to rip them! That might be sexy if we were on stage in Magic Mike, but they have special pants for that. These are not my special pants. Not to say I have stripper pants. Oh god, don’t kill me if you don’t like what you see.” Derek opened up Stiles’ pants and pulled down the boxers. 

They’re both quiet as Derek traced his finger around the triskelion on Stiles’ hipbone that looked like a miniature version of the one on his back. 

“Just so we’re clear, I did it for myself. You said that it could represent different things, like family. There was a pretty fantastic ‘mom’ tattoo in the book, but I’m not sure I want to see that when I’m looking at my dick.”

Ignoring Stiles’ commentary, Derek asked, “Can I?” and slowly started tugging Stiles’ pants downward. 

Stiles nodded and lifted his hips so Derek could pull his pants and boxers down towards his knees. Derek hovered over the tattoo and his warm breath ghosted over the sensitized skin. Stiles gasped when a pink tongue traced over one of the swirls. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” whispered Stiles as he reached for his cock. 

The motion is halted when Derek repositioned Stiles’ hands on the couch. “Mine,” Derek said as he kissed his way across Stiles’ belly. He gave the cock in front of him a few tentative pumps before engulfing it. 

“Oh fuck!” exclaimed Stiles as he arched his hips off the couch. Derek held on to Stiles’ hips and continued the bobbing motions. “Oh god, Derek, I’m going to come. I’m going to come. Like really, embarrassingly soon.”

Derek pulled off, continued stroking Stiles though his orgasm and watched as come splattered onto Stiles’ shirt and coated his hand. He smeared the come from his hand on to the tattoo and rubbed it into the skin. 

The next thing they knew, the front door slammed open and the rest of the pack tumbled into the house. 

“Oh my god! Dude! House rule number three!” exclaimed Scott. 

Erica slinked her way across the room on to the couch, “That’s right. I always did like the idea of rule number three.” 

Derek threw Stiles over his shoulder to Stiles’ protests and silently dared anyone to call him out on rule number three before making a quick retreat into his bedroom. Stiles was being carried upstairs when the other heard his say, “I told you we should have put a sock on the door!”

* * *

**24.**

**Pairing:** Erica/Boyd 

When she was little, Erica would wake up aching and cold on the crinkly paper-covered cot in the nurse’s office. Sometimes she was wearing somebody else’s pants, her underwear still warm and wet. 

Her mother would come and collect her, wrapping her up in soft arms, whispering _oh my sweet, oh my baby girl_ into her hair.

The walk to the car was always the worst. Erica tried to hide in her mother’s legs, but there was no escape.

Muddy-fingered and wide-eyed they’d push their faces up against the fence at the edge of the playground to stare. Somebody always giggled and then they were all laughing.

She never let herself cry until she was alone in her room with the covers pulled high up over her head, warm and dark and safe.

\--

She got worse. They had to put her on meds, now, hoping that maybe that would help. They didn’t work. 

They turned her body against her in new ways. She’d never thought about her skin before. Now it erupted and turned shiny red overnight. She gained weight all over her body, soft and smothering.

She looked in the mirror and saw a blank, round face, lonely and hopeless as the moon and she hated it. She wanted to claw her way out of the horrible, useless body she was caged in.

The laughter never faded. The evil echo of it mocked her in the hallway, followed her home, haunted her dreams. 

She would wake up in the hospital, not remembering but knowing they all watched the ambulance take her away. 

\--

Trying to climb the wall again had been idiotic. She knew that. She knew her mother didn’t understand why she did it, didn’t understand that she couldn’t stand all the anger and misery trapped inside her. The wall was just there, a huge metaphor for her failure. She’d make it this time or die trying.

Waking up had been another sour disappointment in a life full of bitterness.

But this time Derek was there. Eyes flashing, literally flashing, and one hand outstretched, reaching for Erica. 

\--

And it was worth it, to wake up on strange sheets and not immediately be ashamed, not be scared. Trade one kind of freak for another.

She wiggles backwards, slipping easily into the warm pocket defined by his body.

“Mmmm.” The buzz against the back of her neck skips like static down her spine.

“Morning, lover.” He smiles against her skin and presses a hot kiss there.

“Morning, lovely,” he says and slips an arm around to her to pull her close. His fingers slide down and find her clit.

He’s hard against her back, the head drags against her skin when he shifts, not impatient, just warm and wanting. It’s suddenly not enough. She pushes back against him, makes him laugh.

He braces one wide hand across her ribcage, pulling her leg up with his other hand. His hips shift, dragging his dick across her, teasing, and he slips in on one long slide.

Light spills across the tangled sheets, prelude to another beautiful day, and Boyd kisses sweet and gentle across her shoulder. The sudden joy comes from nowhere and fills her skin until she can’t breathe. 

“Erica?” He pulls back and she can’t stand it. She twists around and kisses him.

“I love you. God, I love you.” His face relaxes and he rubs their cheeks together.

“I love you too.” They breathe for a moment until Boyd hitches forward, just a little, pressing down with his fingers.

Their rhythm builds, slow and easy. Boyd keeps her tight against his chest, pushing in with long, sweet rolls of his hips.

She traces her fingers over the base of his dick, where he’s moving in her, stretching her wide. He groans and his hips snap forward, greedy.She stretches her legs wider, lets him hold the weight of her lifted leg. The stretch of it, the wantonness, is too much. Her fingers work frantically, matching Boyd, the way he pushes into her. 

She slips over the edge without meaning to, gasping into the pillow and tightening deliciously around Boyd still inside her. He bites down hard on her neck and flexes against her once more before relaxing with a sigh.

The sunlight is warm where it falls across her shoulder and Boyd is still tracing his fingers along the thin skin of her belly, chasing out the little aftershocks that tingle through her. 

\--

It was worth it.

* * *

**25.**

**Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia

They have sex. It's good sex.

Good, healthy, normal sex.

He always watches Lydia get dressed afterwards without moving from his spot on the bed. Sometimes he feels like he should be melancholy about how quickly she leaves, like he isn't important to her at all, but it's not like he wouldn't be the same way if they were at her apartment.

They're just not like that. Doesn't mean it doesn't sting, though.

"Jackson, stop pouting," she says, not taking her eyes off the mirror where she's brushing something across her cheeks.

"Whatever," he says, and gets up to make a sandwich.

It's just sex. It's good sex.

She kisses him hard one night, right after she's finished doing herself up. Her lips are bright red, predatory, and she pushes him down on the bed, kissing him into the sheets with a hand fisted in his hair. He's still naked but she makes him hot, uncomfortable.

When she pulls away, Jackson knows she's left a smear from the way she eyes his mouth. He licks his lips.

"Hmm," she says, and opens her bag for her compact and the shade du jour.

She starts reapplying her color right there on top of him. She's straddling him, and she's _right there_. On top of his dick, not even looking at him. Her mouth opens wide, the color a slick, vivid glide over her bottom lip, and he groans.

She presses her lips together, slides them around. "Impatient?" she asks.

"Fuck," he says, and reaches for her waist. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, so he drops his hands—but bares his teeth. He's not a pushover.

Lydia arches an eyebrow and adds another swipe of color before dropping her things back into her bag. She leans down to just look at him, then, appraising. She catches his chin and turns his face gently, this way and that. In an instant he realizes he's well on his way to impossibly hard—would rock up into her, almost does, but her nails bite into his jaw pointedly until he grunts and goes limp again.

Whatever she sees she seems to like it, because she smiles, like a tiny, red-lipped devil. Jackson tries leaning up to kiss her but her grip is firm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks.

"I just—" he says, frustrated, but she pushes him back down.

It's because she's evening fresh, flawless. If he kissed her right now, he'd ruin her.

He still wants to kiss her. A small part of him wants desperately to ruin her.

"Another day," she says.

He licks his lips again once she's left. When he looks in the mirror, his mouth is bright red, like a wound.

Another day comes and she pushes him straight onto the floor, gets on top of him as soon as she's slid out of her shoes. There's nothing under her skirt but skin, so he slips his fingers there and touches, just as she wants him to.

He knows just from looking at her face that she can tell. When she smiles it's slow, almost hungry, like he's handed her something magnificent.

"The red was a good look for you, but I want to try something else," Lydia says, and pulls out a little pot in a different color. "Here."

This one she has to put on with her fingertips, rubbing lazily along his lips. He presses his thumb inside her as she slicks it on him, but she doesn't twitch once.

Here, as ever, she's in total control. He closes his eyes as she coaxes his lips apart.

"That's better," she says when she's finished with him. "This color looks great on you." She smears the leftover under his eyes like war paint.

"Fuck you," he says.

"Don't mind if I do," she says. She drops the pot back into her purse and pulls out a condom, and he thinks, _god_.

It is absolutely not their usual healthy, normal sex. He's frantic and she's worse, holding down his shoulders and slamming herself onto his cock until he's gasping. She seems to change her mind then, kissing him furiously, as messy as she can get it. He rolls her over and _fucks_ her, tongue still in her mouth, and when he pulls away he sees the color she's put on him is dark and rich, like a bruise.

He _feels_ bruised. She's marked him down somewhere deep.

"Don't stop," she orders, clinging to him, and he doesn't.

He won't.

* * *

**26.**

**Warnings:** Implied previous off-screen non-con/gang-rape  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

It was only afterwards, when the sweat and the cum had been wiped away and they lay on Derek’s mattress side by side, arms brushing, that Stiles found his panic rising. He swallowed and furiously willed away the tears prickling his eyes. He could do this. “I lied, Derek.”

“I know.” Derek didn’t move, didn’t turn towards him, or away from him. 

“This wasn’t really my first time.” Stiles voice sounded closed off, even to himself. Derek was silent, letting him speak, so he dragged a deep breath in, and continued. “I know I said it was, when I asked you to do this for me.”

He swallowed. “There was this thing that happened. Before I left, before I went away to school…” He glanced at the man beside him. “I wasn’t running out on you. Or the pack. I just – I couldn’t deal with it. You probably thought - but it wasn’t about the wolf stuff. Not really.”

Derek rolled to face him. “You could have said you were going, Stiles. Eight fucking months.” His voice wasn’t angry, just gentle, and sad. “I.. the whole pack was devastated. You destroyed Scott. He shouldn’t have had to find out from your Dad after you’d gone.”

“Yeah, well maybe he’d have known, if he wasn’t so caught up in his own fucking after-school special all summer long.” Stiles tried to tamp down on the anger, but it crested in him, like water threatening to burst through a dam. “He knew I’d applied for my qualifying year. But he had patrols to run, stupid wolf wars to strategize – you were all so wrapped up in your little wolf world… I went through HELL for your pack, and you didn’t even fucking notice!” He’d promised himself he wouldn’t lose it. Stiles scrabbled for his balled up t-shirt to scrub the snot and tears from his face.

“I was just so fucking pissed at you guys. At everything. Everything was just spiralling out of control. My fucking life.” Stiles sat up, clutching the sheet to his chest. “Nightmare after fucking nightmare. We almost drowned, Derek! I watched my Dad’s friends get gunned down and ripped apart. And Gerard… the hunters… what they did to me, in Allison’s basement…” Stiles broke down, sitting up in the bed and wrapping his arms around his knees, sobs breaking free. “I had no-one, Derek! No-one to tell. Scott was too distracted, the pack was busy. Melissa got me treatment, drove me to the next county for stitches. I had to beg her not to tell my dad, so your whole stupid wolf thing wouldn’t come out.”

Derek’s arms were around him now, and Stiles could feel wetness as he lay his cheek against Stile’s shoulder. His voice was almost a whisper. “I knew.”

Stiles tried to pull away, to turn, but Derek tightened his arms around him. “I’m so fucking sorry, Stiles. I knew. I could smell the bleeding, the semen… But you didn’t say anything – were so fucking strong. I don’t know why – I wanted to respect your privacy. I knew what it felt like – maybe not rape, but the feeling of being used, of being utterly helpless, no control over anything that was happening to you. I knew that shame, and I just – I couldn’t call you on it. I wanted to give you that.”

“I didn’t want privacy, Derek.” Stiles wanted to scream. “I wanted my pack. I needed you to just – read my mind or something. I don’t know. I needed to be cared for. Not fucking ignored, as if your huge werewolf drama was more important than anything I went through.”

“So you left. I - get that. But you came back?”

“Well, yeah. I wanted this.” Stiles twisted to face him, gesturing between them. “For the first time in my life, I could be in control of something. I refused to cut myself off from sex and love, because... I’m not letting those fuckers take that from me. I’m not broken.

“I decided to make my own first time. Even if it wasn’t my first sex – it was my first time CHOOSING. My first time being in control of what I want. So – thank you.”

“You knew I’d say yes.” Derek said softly.

Stiles moved to climb onto Derek’s lap, pulling him close until their foreheads pressed together. “Yeah, I knew. Knew when I was ready, you’d be here waiting.” He ground forward, lips and cocks pressing together with utter certainty.

* * *

**27.**

**Warnings:** watersports, bondage, dub-con  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Scott

“This is really stupid,” Scott said, right before Derek shoved a rag into his mouth and put tape over it, grinning like the asshole he was. Scott’s arms weren’t tied up, and he could probably at least wipe that smile off Derek’s face but that would defeat the purpose.

Derek straightened up and stepped behind the chair, picking up the heavy chains he’d left there earlier. Scott’s arms were grabbed and twisted backwards, behind the chair back as Derek began looping the chain through and around.

He had to try. With the alpha pack quickly approaching, they needed to act as one unit, all of them. He closed his eyes and let the quiet snicks and clangs of the chain, and Derek still wrapping it around and around, calm him down. He didn’t fully know what Derek had planned, but he could do this, could fake the trust Derek needed from him, had done it before; all to protect his loved ones.

Scott didn’t realize Derek was finished until his head was jerked back hard by his hair. He looked up into Derek’s glowing red eyes, his wolf face. 

“It begins now,” he said before licking, _actually licking_ the side of Scott’s face. Scott tried to move and turn away, struggling against the chains, but they held firm. The gag in his mouth dried out all his saliva and kept him from making any sound that didn’t come out like a whimper.

He couldn’t move beyond thrashing his shoulders and shaking his head. Derek’s hand in his hair tightened, putting a stop to any other move Scott might’ve made. “You will obey me as your alpha, Scott. Do you understand?” Scott closed his eyes and nodded as much as he could. He was powerless. 

“Good boy.” 

Scott’s eyes opened, he could feel his claws extending, rage rushing through him in waves. 

Derek laughed. “It’s just obedience training. Relax, Scott, you might even enjoy it.” He smirked again, then quickly leaned in and licked the other side of Scott’s face, then proceeded to lap at his neck, saliva dripping down to Scott’s shoulder. 

Scott couldn’t repress a shudder. It was nasty. Maybe if it was something Allison did, he might not mind, but being covered in Derek’s saliva and scent all over? Gross. 

Oh. _Oh._

Derek was marking him, of course he was, in the most disgusting way possible, licking and sucking and leaving marks all over Scott’s body. Scott was going to kill him. 

“Still fighting?” Derek asked from right next to his ear, and his hot breath against the damp skin there made Scott shiver. Scott tried to push him away, but that only earned him a hard bite to the neck. It would definitely leave a mark.

“Since you insist on doing this the hard way, pun not intended,” Derek said before Scott felt his boot press down forcefully on his boner, that Scott shamefully hadn’t realized he’d sprung, “I’ll move on to the next part.”  
He stepped back from Scott and undid his belt buckle, then slid his jeans down, just low enough to pull out his cock, still flaccid. Scott could feel his face heat with shame, and he shut his eyes again.

“Keep them open.” 

Scott obeyed, opening his eyes just in time to watch as Derek walked closer, cock in hand, practically straddling him, then aimed at his chest. Scott could smell the urine before it streamed out of Derek’s cock and onto his lacrosse jersey, down to his shorts. It seeped through quickly, damp and tepid in seconds. Scott had never felt more humiliated in his life. Nor more aroused, if his cock, now soaked with Derek’s piss, and hard, was anything to go by. 

Derek tucked himself in then stomped his foot back on Scott’s dick and leaned close.

“Knew this would get you hot, Scott, all that fighting’s just a front, isn’t it? You’re like a stray dog, looking to belong.” The boot pressed down harder and tears streamed down Scott’s face, snot clogged up his nose, the rag in his mouth made it hard to breathe.  
Derek lapped up a stray tear and licked to Scott’s ear. “You want to come, Scott? You’ll do it like this, admitting you belong to me now.” Derek moved his foot against Scott’s cock once more, and with a sob that shook his body and the chair, Scott came.

Derek walked away, “I’ll be back in 2 hours. Oh, and welcome to the pack.”

* * *

**28.**

**Warnings:** Underage  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**First Time for Everything**

The first time Stiles told him that there was nothing going on between him and Derek Hale, the sheriff was almost inclined to believe him. 

Almost.

But Sheriff Stilinski has seventeen years of experience being the boy’s father. And despite his son’s lack of faith in his abilities sometimes, the sheriff is very good at his job. He notices things, for one. Like the way Stiles looks at Derek. And the way _Derek_ looks at _Stiles_. And he is pretty good at reading people too. (Like he knew Derek Hale was innocent after ten minutes of questioning him about those murders, even though Derek had provided what could only be called ‘grunts’ to the sheriff’s questions.) 

Anyway he doesn’t need his superior sleuthing skills to know that Stiles’ version of The Truth is often a murky one. Still, nothing really could have prepared him for the scene that greets him when he comes home from work early and checks in on his only son, fully expecting Stiles to be doing homework, but instead finds him...

...on his hands and knees on his bed, completely naked, Derek Hale (also naked, for the record) behind him, his dick shoved balls deep into Stiles. 

The sheriff knows it’s not polite to stare but can anyone really blame him? (And, wow, the scene before him suddenly calls to mind their neighbour’s miniature poodles, which he once had the misfortune to come across in the side yard – butts stuck together.) The sheriff allows a shudder and quickly shakes the image from his mind, peripherally aware of his son saying to Derek, “How much longer you gonna be stuck in me? My dad’s gonna be home soon.” 

Stiles then catches him with a glance, still paused in the doorway, stuck in gawker mode. Which is something the sheriff knows about. He’s been the Sheriff of Beacon Hills for the past ten years and has seen his share of car wrecks and he knows exactly how strong the human need is to gawk. 

“ _Oh_ my God,” Stiles expresses then directs a “ _Seriously?_ ”over his shoulder at Derek, which sounds rather accusatory to the sheriff, frankly.

He snaps out of his trance and pulls the door quickly closed, then bolts for the stairway.

Yeah. This is definitely the last time he spontaneously checks in on Stiles without giving plenty of advanced warning. 

Fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the living room, his son and Derek before him, looking about as embarrassed and as guilty as they could possibly be.

The only reason the sheriff thinks he can look Stiles in the eye is that he’s pretty sure his retinas suffered serious damage in the aftermath of witnessing his son and Derek Hale _in flagrante_. He is only vaguely aware of Stiles babbling out some explanation that includes words he is sure he is mishearing. 

The sheriff blinks. Now, he’d like to think he’s a fairly liberal-minded dad, but forgive him if he needs a moment to work through hearing words that sounded like ‘werewolf’, ‘mate’ and...did Stiles say ‘ _knotting_ ’? (And, yeah, here comes the image of Mrs. Shultz’s poodles again.) 

“So...mate?” the sheriff hedges, looking from Stiles to Derek then back to Stiles again.

Stiles nods.

“And, um, knotting?” The sheriff doesn’t even stutter on the word, and really he should be given a freaking medal for that.

A pink blush creeps over Stiles’ cheeks.

The sheriff now looks at Derek. “ _Werewolf_?”

Derek shrugs in affirmation.

“Okay, then,” the sheriff says, doing his best to come to terms with the incredibly bizarre explanation his son has just given him for the retina-scorching event he’d been privy to witness. His breathes out a sigh that is long-suffering and fixes both boys with a look. “Well. So long as you’re being _safe_ while doing whatever it is that a werewolf does with his mate (he refuses to say ‘knotting’ again and vows to wipe that word from his vocabulary, although he never thought he’d use the words ‘werewolf’ and ‘mate’ in a sentence either so this is new) then I see absolutely no reason why we should ever have to speak of this again. Agreed?”

Derek gives him a sharp nod. Stiles gapes at him. 

Wow. This just might be the first time the sheriff has ever seen his son rendered speechless. So, yeah, he’s going to revel in that.

* * *

**29.**

**Pairing:** Danny/Jackson 

It’s halfway through the evening before Danny even realizes what’s going on.

*

It’s Friday, which means they have lacrosse until five, after which Jackson pushes Danny back against the lockers and gives him the best blowjob in his admittedly-not-that-huge experience. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Danny groans, fingers tightening in Jackson’s hair. “I’m gonna - ”

Jackson pulls off, but not away, his hair brushing Danny’s hipbone as he jacks him, and when he mouths a little at the head of Danny’s dick, he promptly comes, mostly on Jackson’s face. Fuck.

After he’s gotten Jackson off, and they’re both regaining their breath, Jackson huffs.

“I’m bored, let’s do something tonight.”

“Mmkay,” is the best Danny can offer because hello, he just gave Jackson a facial, he’s gonna need more than five minutes to recover. “Call of Duty?” he suggests a moment later.

Jackson shrugs. “I’m don’t want to sit around at home.” He stands and pulls Danny up after him. “I’ll pick you up.”

He kisses Danny and leaves, a little more hurriedly than normal. 

*

Jackson picks him up just after seven. Rather than sitting outside his house and beeping like the rude person he is, Jackson actually comes to the door, says hi to Danny’s parents, and looks at Danny for a little longer than he normally would before saying, “Ready to go?”

They wind up at a restaurant downtown, a little nicer than anywhere they’d usually eat. But Jackson’s like this sometimes, still acting like he has something (god knows what) to prove (to god knows who), so Danny doesn’t comment.

“Let’s eat,” Jackson says, leaping out of the car without waiting for a response. 

In retrospect, Jackson holding the door open for him should have tipped him off. 

Dinner is nice, and everything is normal, and it isn’t until there’s a lull in the conversation (well, argument, because Jackson _still_ won’t turn in front of Danny, he’s still weird and cagey about the whole werewolf thing like he thinks Danny’s going to have a six-month-delayed freakout) and Jackson brushes his foot against Danny’s under the table and smiles at him that Danny gets it.

It’s not like Jackson never smiles at him, but this one is different. Danny recognises this one - it’s the way Jackson used to look at Lydia when he thought no one, _especially_ Lydia, was looking.

“This is a date,” he says slowly, unable to help the burst of affection in his chest. Jackson rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. “Jesus Christ, Jackson, you didn’t wanna mention it?” 

Jackson shrugs. “Whatever, man, it’s not a big deal.”

Except it sorta is, because they haven’t really talked about what they’re doing, even though neither of them are with anyone else, and this is definitely _some_ kind of declaration.

“You’re an asshole,” he says.

“You love it,” Jackson replies, his pretty mouth twisting in a familiar smirk. The awful thing is, Danny kind of does.

*

“If I’d known this would happen if I took you out, I’d have done it sooner,” Jackson pants into Danny’s pillow, way too eloquently for what Danny’s doing to him. Danny twists his fingers a little harder and Jackson groans. Better. 

They’ve only done _this_ a couple of times, but Danny loves the way Jackson get worked up enough to forget himself, to push back into it, to beg.

He takes his time, fucking Jackson open with his fingers, letting him moan and pant and curse, demanding Danny fuck him _now_ goddammit, or he’ll find someone else to do it properly.

Danny snorts as he rolls on the condom. “Sure you will,” he says drily, pushing in in one long slide before Jackson can retort. He gets a gratifying moan in response. 

He’s not gonna last long, but he’d be more embarrassed about it if Jackson weren’t already totally gone, hand stroking his dick furiously, obscenities mixed with Danny’s name falling from his lips. 

After Danny’s cleaned them up (Jackson is always completely useless after sex), he climbs back into bed and pokes and prods Jackson until they’re both comfortable.

“Your turn next time,” Jackson mumbles.

“To take you out? I’m a way better date than you, man, are you sure you can stand to be shown up?”

Jackson snorts. “If it’s that great, maybe I’ll even put out,” he says, like he wasn’t basically begging for Danny’s dick like fifteen minutes ago. 

“Go to sleep,” Danny tells him.

Jackson, for once, obeys.

* * *

**30.**

**Warnings:** Underage, Petplay  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

The first time, Stiles doesn’t think twice about it. 

He just wants contact with another person, and Scott is right there, watching the exact same dumb movie in an attempt to reignite the bromance after the epic breakup of Scott and Allison’s epic romance. 

There is nothing like pointless explosions to sooth heartache. 

But, back to Stiles, who is craving some comfort of his own, thank you very much. So he just sort of rolls until he can cuddle into Scott’s side. It’s just warmth and an opportunity to be close to someone. Scott sort of squirms around until he’s comfortable, but then he goes back to watching robots swing from buildings in New York.

It’s a few minutes later that Stiles realizes he’s nuzzling into the curve of Scott’s shoulder blade. It feels...natural.

There’s a rumbling in the back of his throat that might grow up to be a purr someday, and it’s the closest he can get to voicing how good this feels. 

Maybe it’s the noise, or the way Stiles’ hands have rolled up tight underneath Stiles’ chest, but Scott stills for a moment. Then he rolls over onto his back slowly. 

Scott’s hands graze Stiles’ sides as he slowly moves to hold Stiles steady. Stiles hides his head in Scott’s neck, but it’s hard to keep himself from peeking to see what Scott’s expression holds. Scott blinks up at Stiles, but his gaze is steady and unflinching beneath his eyelashes. 

“What is it?” Scott asks with a smile on the curl of his lips. 

Stiles isn't sure how to explain. The right words aren't in his head right now. He's more caught up in simple pleasures: warmth and skin and companionship and breath. He whines at the intrusion of a question in this calm space. 

Then he licks across Scott's chin in apology. 

They both freeze. Stiles goes to pull back, to turn away, but Scott's hands hold him firmly in place. It’s-this isn’t supposed to be complicated. Stiles whines and pulls as far away as Scott will let him go. 

Scott breathes deeply, chest rising to bring them back to alignment. Stiles is sure Scott can hear how fast his heart is beating. 

“Stiles,” Scott says quietly, something almost beseeching in his tone. His eyes are dark, barely a ring of gold around the pupil. “It’s not a werewolf thing.”  
Stiles shakes his head mutely, and hides his face back in Scott’s chest. 

“No,” Scott says wonderingly. “This is something else.”

Scott’s hands run up his spine to rub across Stiles’ still close-shaved scalp. It feels so damned good that Stiles catches himself arching up into the pressure subconsciously. That low rumble in his throat starts again. Stiles opens his eyes from where they’d slid shut and there he is. It seems the most natural thing in the world to lick into his mouth, panting after everything  
Scott would give him. 

Scott moans into the kiss, and it’s different this time around. Oh, they’ve fooled around, kissed a time or two for practice, pulling disgusted faces afterwards, and synchronously spitting into the surrounding dirt. The little kid kind of kissing that doesn’t count for anything.

Only it’s counting now, because Stiles mouth seems to intimately remember Scott’s mouth, the heat and the warmth of it. The kiss is sloppy with too much tongue and enthusiasm on Stiles’ part, but that somehow makes it better. 

Stiles needs gently at Scott’s chest and he ruts without thought against the weight of Scott’s thigh between his own, but it’s not with the intent to get off necessarily. For all that the air between them sparks with possibility, tonight isn’t the right time for that, not when Stiles can’t explain, no matter how understanding Scott is. 

So, instead, Scott keeps running his hands over Stiles’ hair, and Stiles nuzzles closer, breathing in the smell of skin and Scott and something sharper. 

“Good boy,” Scott whispers, and it’s enough.

* * *

**31.**

**Warnings:** consent issues, depending on how you read into this  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

****

The Wolf Bone

The first time Deaton gives Stiles a magical artifact he tells Stiles it’s drained of magic and useless.

“Thanks.” Stiles shrugs and pockets the finger-length wolf bone.

*

“Catch!” Stiles tosses the powerless bone into Derek’s lap. “You know anything about this?”

Derek sniffs it. “It’s wolf.” He frowns. “It’s warm.”

“Really?” Stiles takes it back, eyes widening as he feels the heat. “Wasn’t doing that earlier.” He strokes the smooth white of the bone’s polished surface and grins as it trembles beneath his touch.

“Fascinating,” Derek says straight-faced and unimpressed as he suddenly stands and ushers Stiles out the door. “Stop by again sometime. This had been enlightening.”

Gaping at the slammed door and the snick of the deadbolt, Stiles shouts, “Rude!” But hey, he’s got a magic wolf bone! Rudeness cannot ruin his mood. He strokes it again and feels the unmistakable vibration in his palm. Cool.

Something crashes on the other side of the door. He ignores it and walks away.

*

He’s a bit addicted to touching his bone. He’s not ashamed to admit it. He keeps it in his pocket all day at school and rubs his thumb up and down the length of it. He’s discreet about it. It’s no worse than when he’d gotten into the habit of clicking his pen.

At least this won’t end with Jackson threatening to shove his pen up his ass if he didn’t stop.

This is awesome because no one even knows he’s doing it.

*

Derek looks like shit.

“You look like shit, dude,” Stiles says after his heart’s calmed from finding Derek sitting on his bed, waiting for him to get home from school.

The room smells kind of funky so Stiles opens the window a bit wider. Maybe he should empty his trash -- there’s a week’s worth of _well-used_ Kleenex in there. No wonder Derek’s looking at him funny.

“Do you remember that wolf bone you showed me yesterday?” Derek’s lips press tight as he waits for an answer.

Stiles reaches into his pocket, proudly showing off the awesomeness that is his very first _magical object_. “Yeah, it’s enchanted I think.” He swipes his hand over it just to make sure it’s still working.

Derek shifts awkwardly on his bed, his expression unreadable. “You have to stop touching it,” he grits out.

Stiles laughs. “What? Why? It doesn’t even really do anything.” He rolls it between his palms and the thing practically _sings_.

“Stiles!” Derek makes a noise like a strangled gasp.

“What’s going on with you, man?” Derek is a serious mess; he’s sweating and flushed, and also looks ready to kill Stiles.

“Put. That. Thing. Down.”

Stiles blinks at Derek, who is sitting awkwardly now the Stiles pays closer attention, and Derek’s got his arm blocking his crotch the way Scott spent most of his time between the ages of thirteen and fourteen.

“Stop touching it,” Derek says, wincing in time with the finger Stiles is absently tapping against the bone.

Stiles tilts his head, letting all the information come together. “I think I know what this does now.”

“Aren’t you a genius?” The muscles in Derek’s jaw spasm.

He’s never seen Derek embarrassed before but he guesses that explains, at least partially, the pink of his cheeks and the way he won’t quite meet Stiles’ eyes. “I was touching this all day.”

“I _know._ ”

“And you were in here, weren’t you? Feeling every single stroke.” He looks at his trash again, realizing it hadn’t been quite so full this morning. “Were you thinking of me?”

“Stiles.” It comes out more of a growl than a name. Stiles takes that as a yes.

Stiles smirks, raises the bone to his mouth and _licks_.

Derek’s eyes snap to his; Stiles thinks he’s about to be pounced on, devoured. He swipes his tongue from the base to the tip before sucking the whole bone into his mouth, and sees the instant Derek loses it. It’s better than any porn -- ridiculously hot given that they are both completely dressed and not even touching each other.

Derek trembles and cries out. His eyes squeeze shut and his claws slice through Stiles’ covers.

It’s seriously the best fucking thing.

Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek’s post-orgasm face to look down at the vibrating bone in his hand. “Awesome.”

* * *

**32.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Hair**

Stiles had no idea how he'd come to associate Derek with Lady Gaga. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with having the new album on repeat while he studied werewolf business. Whatever, now whenever he heard Lady Gaga's 'Hair', his first thought was Derek Hale.

The song was totally inappropriate, as far as he knew. As far as he knew, Derek's parents hadn't punished him with haircuts, and Derek's ambition was probably not to live as free as his hair, judging by the amount of gel he put on it (and yes, Stiles got that it was a metaphor, but this was Derek Hale!).

The one similarity might have been that he wanted to be loved for who he was, but then Derek didn't really seem to want to be loved. He didn't seem to give a shit what anyone thought about him, not even his pack. Isaac seemed to like him well enough, but Stiles suspected that after Isaac's dad, anyone was a step up.

The idea of Derek made him chuckle whenever he heard the song, mostly because he loved the idea of Derek with red highlights and had a lovely time picturing what the red highlights would look like in the Alpha form.

He didn't hear the song that often once the novelty of the new album wore off, so he didn't realise that this train of thought meant that he was just occasionally thinking about Derek with something approaching affection. Not often, but clearly just enough. He had noticed Scott giving him some funny looks, and he'd also noticed that both Isaac and Derek seemed to be being a bit…well, Isaac seemed to be nicer occasionally and Derek kept…staring at him. Not the same sort of death-glare that Stiles was used to receiving, but a more contemplative expression, with a fair side order of puzzled. Stiles took to giving him detailed updates about everywhere he'd been during the day in the hope that that would stop the staring, but it didn't seem to work – if anything, Derek seemed to stare more.

Everything suddenly became clear when he was driving Derek back to his apartment after a truly disastrous encounter with a ghoul. Derek sat slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed, and Stiles flipped on the radio because he just couldn't handle the thought of sitting in silence for another four blocks. He didn't recognise the first song, but the second song that played was 'Hair.' Stiles felt himself smile involuntarily, a huge grin of amusement and affection, and because he was right there, he turned and directed the full force of that smile at Derek.

"Pull over," Derek said in a low voice.

"You can't be going to barf, you're already healed!" said Stiles.

"I said, pull over," Derek growled, and Stiles pulled over to the side of the road with a scowl. He was expecting Derek to reach for the door handle. He absolutely was not expecting Derek to reach out towards him, fist one hand in his shirt and draw him in for an absolutely amazing kiss. The angle wasn't the greatest at first, but when Stiles managed to take his hands off the wheel and get them on Derek, things improved considerably. Derek's hands were hot against his skin and Stiles slid one hand up to tangle in Derek's hair. 

Both of them were breathing heavily when they finally pulled apart.

"Woah, what brought that on?" Stiles asked, because he could never miss the opportunity to put his foot in his mouth. "Not that I'm not completely on board with doing that again, perhaps somewhere slightly more comfortable," he backpedalled hastily. "Just…" he waved a hand vaguely between them.

"You smelt good," Derek said, after a moment. Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek winced. "You smelt all…and then you smiled at me," he said. "Obviously I was going to kiss you!"

"Oh my god!" Stiles said, beginning to laugh. "Derek, I was thinking about you singing that stupid song!"

Derek stared at him., seemingly waiting for him to stop laughing.

"You are totally ridiculous," he said, when Stiles showed no signs of stopping soon. "That song is now banned."

"If it'll get me more kissing, I can live with that," Stiles said, so that was the first and last time he listened to that song with Derek in the room. (He listened to it occasionally when Derek wasn't there, but Derek pretended not to know.)

* * *

**33.**

**Pairing:** Peter/Chris 

The last time he’d been in this alley there’d been a car, a werewolf, and gun fire. This time there was just him.

Chris kicked a can and watched it bounce from the bin to the wall, then splash in a puddle. He didn’t know what he expected; he _knew_ he shouldn’t be here, not with the alpha pack roaming the streets, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Allison was still not talking to him, his father’s betrayal still burned, and everything felt _off_.

“I thought Little Red Riding Hood got lost in the woods, not darkened alleys.”

“I thought wolves were big and bad,” Chris retorted, and turned as Peter stepped out from the shadows.

“Is that any way to speak to the only werewolf in Beacon Hills who isn’t trying to kill you?”

He took a step forward before he could stop himself. “McCall’s been hanging around my house and he hasn’t tried to kill me.”

“Of course, the beta desperate to be a packless alpha. Do you want me to call him?” Peter raised an eyebrow and mimed a howl then grinned when Chris rolled his eyes. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re following me, Hale?”

“No,” Peter took step closer and ran his fingers along the line of buttons on Chris’s shirt, then looked up. “You should, however, be concerned that you didn’t hear me walk up.”

“Maybe I did.” He grabbed Peter’s wrist and stilled it. 

“Ah,” Peter tapped a finger to Chris’s chest, “Lie.”

“What do you want, Peter?” Chris took a step back and felt his back pressed against the wall. When had they moved backwards?

“What does any man really want, Chris?” Peter pulled him forward by his belt loops, turned him, and slammed him against the wall. Chris reached his hands out and cursed when the brick cut dug into his skin, then stilled when Peter whispered, “A fucking good release.”

“So it’s going to be like that?” he ground out and immediately leaned into the heat when Peter stepped closer behind him and braced his hands on either side of Chris’s body.

“It’s going to be however I want it,” Peter whispered against Chris’s ear. He moved one hand to the button on Chris’s jeans and slid it open. “So spread your legs, Argent, and shut your mouth.”

When Chris opened his mouth Peter pushed him up against the wall, moved his hand from the top of Chris’s jeans down to the growing bulge and squeezed. “And don’t ruin it by talking.”

Chris pushed back, slid his hand from the wall to Peter’s and ground up. He kept silent. Peter grinned into his neck and kicked Chris’s farther legs apart, then he slid open the V of Chris’s jeans and quickly pulled his jeans and boxers down in one movement.

“Let’s see what a hunter’s mouth can do,” Peter raised his palm to Chris’s mouth and pressed his cheek against Chris’s face. Wordlessly Chris licked a strip along Peter’s palm and Peter watched each swipe of his tongue. Once, twice, then again. 

He kissed Chris’s cheek, whispered how good he was, and lowered his hand to Chris’s cock and squeezed as he pulled up, his knuckles brushing Chris’s balls. When Chris groaned, he slowly starting moving his hand and breathing filthy promises against Chris’s neck. 

Peter moved his other hand under Chris’s shirt, elongated nails trailing up Chris’s stomach and chest. He heard Chris gasp when he drew blood, felt Chris’s hand tighten where it had gripped Peter’s hand, felt him try to speed Peter’s hand. Chris push back against him, pushed until he was flush front to back, then forward into Peter's slicked, wicked hand. 

“Not yet,” Peter taunted and slowed his hand. He tightened his grip and twisted on the next pull up. He ground his jean-clad cock against Chris’s ass, pushed until Chris's cock brushed the wall. “Not yet.”

Chris clawed one hand against the brick and whimpered, he dug his nails into Peter’s hand and fell against him as Peter sped up, as he began to jerk Chris in quick twists. 

"Now," Peter growled. Chris gasped, jerked as his orgasm raked through him. 

Spent, Chris turned and relaxed against the wall, pulled Peter close. He kissed him, biting Peter’s lip when he pulled back. Then slid down the wall to his knees with his eyes locked on Peter’s, kept them locked when he pulled Peter’s jeans open, “However you want it.”

* * *

**34.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Derek's First (and Last) Trip to IKEA**

“I can't believe you've never done this before,” Stiles said for the fourth time. 

“And I'm not going to if you say that again.”

“It's just. It's IKEA, dude. They have meatballs. And lingonberry soda.”

“I'm aware.”

Stiles lead Derek through the automatic doors, spreading his arms and breathing deeply. 

“Ah! I love the smell of particle board in the morning.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the twitch of his lips betrayed his fondness. When Stiles had stumbled into the kitchen that morning and announced, “We're going to IKEA. I refuse to wake up in pain again that wasn't inflicted by serious boning,” Isaac choked on his cereal while Derek froze, hoping Stiles was using a generic “we.”

When Stiles added that they'd also be shopping for a couch that hadn't been taken from behind a dumpster, Isaac bolted out of the room. The coward.

Unable to resist Stiles regarding, well, anything, Derek found himself an hour later walking into an IKEA for the first time. He didn't know what to expect exactly, but the massive warehouse and fake rooms set up in a ridiculous labyrinth freaked him out a little. 

Five miniature living rooms later, Stiles bounded over to a sleek leather couch. “Hey, what about this one?”

“I don't care. You know this.”

“Just try it.”

So Derek sat down gingerly, closing his eyes, trying to picture himself napping on it in his loft. When he opened his eyes, Stiles was gone. 

Derek was out of his element, but he reasoned if he could navigate a forest in pitch blackness, he could find Stiles in IKEA. So he followed Stiles' scent. Of course, the problem with focusing on Stiles' heady scent was that he tuned out everything else until there was only Stiles. By the time he rounded a corner to find Stiles sitting on a bed blinking innocently up at him, Derek lost it.

“Took you long enough.”

Derek's eyes flashed red, and then Stiles was flat on his back with an alpha werewolf pressing him into the floor-model mattress, teeth latching onto his neck 

“Derek,” Stiles hissed. “Despite my dick's interest in the proceedings, I don't actually want to get arrested.”

“I'll be able to tell if anyone's coming.”

“Uh, may I remind you of the time at the movie theater. And the other time at the movie theater. And then that one time my dad-oh fuck-”

Derek was mouthing at the front of Stiles' jeans, and Stiles could no longer be held responsible for his questionable choices. Derek's mouth was like sin. Stiles wasn't sure if it was because Derek was a werewolf or just really good at sucking cock, but in a matter of seconds, his pants were open and his cock was surrounded by the familiar tight, wet heat of Derek's mouth. 

“Fucking hell, how do you-with your-fuck-tongue.” Stiles started to pump his hips, hitting the back of Derek's throat. 

Derek hummed in encouragement, letting Stiles fuck up into his mouth. Sometimes he used his strength to hold Stiles down, teasing and torturing him until he was begging for release. But sometimes he got off on Stiles completely losing control, like now, fisting his hands in the ugly comforter, running his mouth in a string of curses. His scent and his pleas were overwhelming Derek, his own cock straining in his jeans, so much so, that Derek didn't notice the IKEA employee until he was clearing his throat, right as Stiles was coming down his with a shout.

“Excuse me, uh, sirs. You can't do that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

He was trying to avert his eyes as Stiles scrambled, putting his cock away and trying to duck behind Derek as if he wouldn't be noticed.

The employee did notice Stiles, however, and took it upon himself to escort them out of the store.

As soon as they got to the Jeep, Stiles finally spoke.

“Oh my god. I can't believe you got me banned from IKEA. I hate you so much right now.”

“Werewolf, remember? I know you're lying.”

“Now I really, really hate you.”

“Still lying. But I'll let you fuck me in the bathroom at the movie theater if it'll make you feel any better.”

“Deal.”

* * *

**35.**

**Warnings:** AU  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles 

Stiles meets Derek Hale the first time he gets a ticket. 

He doesn't know who he is at the time though-- he only vaguely remembers his dad mentioning a new hire to him while he'd been away finishing College last year. 

So he spends longer than he'd ever admit, first gaping in consternation into his rearview mirror at the police cruiser, then staring in awe at the man who finally gets out of it. Because, holy Jesus, the officer is hot. His uniform fits him like a glove, and the reflective shades he's rocking give him an air of mystique that does absolutely _nothing_ to Stiles' libido-- oh hell, that's a lie.

"Do you realize you were doing 60 in a 35?" The cop asks him, eying Stiles over the rims of his shades.

The thing is, as the son of the Sheriff, Stiles has grown up with a certain level of... amnesty. His dad's name was on his registration, so even if the local officers managed to somehow miss his Jeep, his dad's name coming up when they pulled his plates typically got their attention.

So Stiles has the bad habit of, not so much _ignoring_ the rules of the road, as viewing them as more...guidelines.

"Oh my god. I was only doing 50!" Stiles blurts, defensive before he can think about it, and then he clamps his mouth shut. _Shit._

The cop smirks, nods sagely, and makes a note on the clipboard he's got braced against his chest.

~*~

Stiles is walking out of the Sheriff's office, glumly clutching at the ticket his dad refused to make go away, when he sees hot cop again. 

"Hey! You!"

Officer _Hale_ , because that's the cop's name apparently, turns around and raises an eyebrow as Stiles jogs to catch up.

"You OWE me," he says, shoving the ticket in Hale's face.

"Do I?"

"Yes! Now I have to pay for a ticket, which I _can't afford_ , and my dad gave me the LOOK! And it's your fault!" Stiles glares at Hale, who just smiles at him in bemusement.

It's an unfairly pretty smile; Stiles fixates on the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the white flash of his teeth. 

"Derek."

"Um...?”

"My name? And you're _Stiles._ " Derek... doesn't even hide the way his gaze travels up and down over Stiles' body.

Stiles steps back, blinking. His rage is gone in the second it takes for his brain to go from bothered, to _hot_ and bothered.

He licks his lips, and then casually leans back against the wall in a way that he hopes looks provocative. Because, OK, this is interesting. 

"I think I said something about you owing me?" Stiles says, letting his voice go a little husky with invitation. 

Derek snorts, but says, "I think you did."

~*~

"Jesus fuck!" Stiles gasps, knocking his head back against the door of Derek's apartment.

Derek is kneeling. In front of him. In his uniform- _God_. He's mouthing and licking at Stiles’ dick through his jeans where the fabric is already wet with precome, and everything is hot and intense in a way that no one else has ever managed in Stiles-- ok granted, rather limited-- experience. 

"You want this?" Derek asks. "Want me to suck you off?"

Stiles takes the hint, pushing Derek's head away long enough to pull his dick out. He trails the tip across Derek’s spit-slick lips, and Derek takes it, tonguing at the underside of Stiles' dick, and then hollowing his cheeks, sucking like it's a fucking lollipop. 

Stiles groans, and his fingers tangle compulsively in Derek's hair, guiding him.

"I really do."

~*~

Derek presses his face between Stiles' shoulder blades, before moving to let his cock slip free from Stiles’ aching ass.

"Been wanting to do that for forever," Derek mumbles. 

"Mmm...Wait. What?!" Stiles says, lifting his head to look back at him. 

Derek stiffens, then shrugs, settling bonelessly back on the bed. 

"I knew who you were when I pulled you over,” he admits. “I saw you once, back when I was first hired. There was a department picnic and you were talking to your dad. By the time I went looking for you though..."

"Yeah! Right! I was only there for like a minute. So what, you thought you'd get my attention now, _by giving me a ticket?"_

"No...more like," Derek slides a finger into Stiles' ass, testing where he's still open and wet, "I just took advantage of an opportunity."

* * *

**36.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles 

The first time they break the bed is, thankfully, the last time as well. But apparently Stiles doesn't think so, if the way he fucks is any indication.

Usually they don't do the whole rough sex thing, saving it for special occasions like birthdays and after one (or both) of them almost dies. Most of the time the sex is, for a lack of a better word, gentle, not soft or slow but sensual in a way that Derek never gets outside their bedroom. He'd even call it lovemaking if it wouldn't make Stiles mock him for the rest of eternity.

Lately it's been the opposite. Not that Derek's complaining – he's not, sex is always great with Stiles, whether he's holding his hands while he rocks above him or pounding Derek's ass so hard he sees the face of god, it's all good – but he feels like Stiles is having sex with him less for wanting to have sex with him and more for trying to break the bed again.

The problem is is that it won't break, and Derek tells him that. Going from second hand to Walmart bought doesn't exactly back up his words but it's a new bed frame. They've had it for two months, if it hasn't broken yet it isn't going to break, no matter how hard they fuck.

It must have gotten through his thick head though because eventually he calms down and when Derek is almost ripped apart by mermaids the life-affirming sex isn't rough, tough and mean like the last time when it was Stiles almost being ripping apart by mermaids (they have a problem with the local mermaid population okay). 

They clutch at each other, Stiles' kisses deep and slow but no less desperate for that they aren't frenzied. It feels like he's trying to consume him, take him and put him in his ribcage next to his stubborn human heart so that he'll never be hurt again. It's beautified but Derek finds it hard to care when Stiles is taking him apart (putting him back together) with his fingers.

At three, Derek has stopped trying to kiss back, letting Stiles mouth at his face while he pants and tries not to concentrate too hard on what Stiles is mumbling into his jawline.

God, he missed this.

"Stiles, please," he gasps into his hair as Stiles simultaneously sucks a bruise into his neck and plays with his prostate.

"Shh, shh, I got you."

He slips his fingers out with a wet sound. Derek expects to be flipped over but apparently that would require them to separate and even for just a few seconds is too much right now. Instead Stiles turns him on his side so that they're facing each other and hikes his leg up so that he has access to his hole. He guides his cock in with a low moan that Derek echos. Stiles isn't the biggest of guys but it's a stretch each time they do this. Derek loves it, even the little bit of burn, makes him feel alive, full, like he's making a place for himself inside him.

It's perfect, the way they – fuck it – make love, because this can be called nothing else. Stiles fucking into him, the air hot between them.

Derek remembers how the bed had creaked the first time the bed broke, barely audible above the grunts and whines and slap of skin against skin. It's eerily similar to the noise he heard just then. He heard it though, and Stiles did too, both of them pausing, breathing heavy as another ominous creak echoed from under them. Just when Derek thinks it's safe, the world falls out from beneath him.

It's quiet for a moment, but then he makes this shocked sound and Stiles laughs.

Derek tries to stifle his own giggle in Stiles' shoulder, but Stiles is full out laughing and it's contagious. He comes with Stiles trying to kiss his wide grin and listing the the left.

Huh, so maybe it wasn't the last time.

(but that one was the last time, not counting when the harpies happened, because Derek gets a steel bed frame that is practically indestructible and won't even break from enthusiastic werewolf sex. Doesn't stop Stiles from trying, but Derek wouldn't have it any other way.)

* * *

**37.**

**Pairing:** Isaac/Scott

The text arrives at midnight, simple and plain, but the intent is clear as day: _Rough night. You still awake?_

It should say something about Isaac’s life that he doesn’t even hesitate, just climbs out of bed and gets dressed, scribbling a hasty note on the kitchen whiteboard so Derek doesn’t worry.

Scott’s waiting for him when he arrives, mostly naked, save for his briefs, and Isaac’s barely climbed through the window before Scott’s stripping him down, pulling him into a bruising kiss that’s just this side of rough. Isaac doesn’t ask what happened, isn’t sure he wants to know, and just kisses back, taking everything Scott will give him.

Eventually he pulls away, sinks to his knees, nuzzling against Scott’s erection through his briefs, the scent of his arousal intoxicating. Scott’s hands settle on Isaac’s shoulders as he slides Scott’s underwear down to his ankles, freeing his cock. Some nights Isaac takes his time, teases and tortures him until he’s begging for release. But tonight he doesn’t waste any time wrapping his lips around the head of Scott’s cock, fingers reaching to grab his hips and encourage him to fuck into Isaac’s mouth. Isaac can already sense his orgasm building, knows it won’t be long.

“Isaac, _fuck_ ,” Scott moans, part warning, part plea, then he’s coming down Isaac’s throat.

Scott reaches for him, yanking him to his feet, guiding their mouths together in a hard, desperate kiss, one hand gripping his hip while the other wraps around Isaac’s cock. By the time Scott’s hand starts moving, he’s so hard, so turned on, that it only takes a few quick pulls before his orgasm hits him. Isaac comes with a shudder, his moan swallowed by Scott’s mouth, and he falls onto the bed, half sprawled across Scott as he struggles to catch his breath. He allows himself a few moments to press his face into Scott’s neck, before moving to grab a cloth to clean up the mess.

“You can stay, if you want,” Scott says, casual, when Isaac’s finished, patting the empty spot beside him. Isaac tries to ignore the way his chest clenches, because he knows why it’s being offered, what it means, what it doesn’t.

But for all of Isaac’s strengths, in this he’s weak, so very weak, when it comes to Scott. He knows he should say no, knows it like he’s known it the past thirty times and will know it the next thirty as well.

There is no hesitation in his voice when he says, “Yes,” climbing into bed.

Scott nods, shuffles underneath the covers until he’s comfortable, not quite touching Isaac, but close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Good night, Isaac.”

Isaac swallows. “Night.”

He knows he can’t keep doing this, offering himself up like this. The sudden bitterness hits him like a punch to the gut, and he fights back a sour laugh. Except he has no one to blame for this but himself. Scott is everything Isaac could ever want -- he is kind and good, genuine and trustworthy. He sees the best in people. Scott makes Isaac feel better about himself, makes Isaac want to _be_ better. If only Scott felt the same about him. If only Isaac were _Allison_ instead.

Isaac waits until Scott’s heart rate has slowed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath before he rolls onto his side, careful not to disturb him. Under the pale moonlight filtering through the window, Scott is even more beautiful, and Isaac is filled with such intense _longing_ that he can barely breathe for a moment.

What would happen if he said something, if he admitted the truth to Scott, even if Scott can’t hear him?

It’s a foolish idea. Dangerous. He’s never said the words out loud, let alone to Scott. But Isaac’s tired of pretending, tired of playing it off as just a thing between friends, because it’s not. Maybe it never was.

Nothing but Scott’s soft, steady breathing fills the air, and Isaac instinctively curls closer to him. He listens to Scott’s heartbeat and waits. Waits five minutes, ten, twenty, until he is absolutely certain that Scott’s asleep, won’t accidentally hear his confession for the first time, here, like this.

He whispers, “I love you,” into the dark, lips a gentle caress against warm skin, and hopes that one day it will be enough.

* * *

**38.**

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

**Manscaping**

The first time Stiles does it, it's on a whim. A guy gets curious, you know? His extensive browsing kind of bi-curious porn contributed to said curiosity. But he kind of _likes_ the feel of it; Stiles shaves his junk baby smooth. He isn't a particularly hairy guy in the first place, his leg hair is fairly light in comparison to others and he doesn't have a single hair on his chest. So he sticks with shaving his junk and quickly discovers how high-maintenance it is to stay so clean; his balls itch so fucking fierce a week later that he's getting offended looks from _Scott_.

So he buys a nicer razor and keeps it up.

It's a little sad having no one to appreciate it, though. Not like Stiles doesn't _try_ to find someone. Lydia was is a lost cause. Deep in his heart he's always known that, but after Jackson's kanima problem was resolved, there is _definitely_ no chance now.

It isn't until a series of odd events later, events that lead to having _Derek Hale_ shucking his pants off, that Stiles gets the appreciation he was hoping for. At least he's _pretty_ sure it's appreciation. He likes to think he knows how to decipher Derek's thoughts via his various eyebrow positions. They hike near his hairline and Derek pauses, staring at Stiles' handiwork. It makes Stiles squirm, self-consciousness washing quickly over him, until Derek let's out a _growl_. His cock twitches and his balls tighten closer to his body. Everything is decidedly right with the world once Derek gets over his brief surprise and starts with the _appreciating_. With his _mouth_.

That is also Stiles' first blowjob, and it rocks his world as hard as he thought it would.

Their relationship continues and Stiles is pretty sure Derek likes the manscaping, what with all the _mauling_. It could have just been the high sex-drive werewolves ostensibly possess, not that Stiles has anyone else to compare. He isn't complaining. 

It's due to a hard, rough few weeks involving fairy-chasing that Stiles has lapsed on maintenance and sports the bush again. Somehow the itching hasn't bothered him as much this time; probably because he's so distracted. 

He hasn't been mauled by Derek since the start of the fairy mess, though. They'd had a tiff and currently aren't on speaking terms. Derek's emotional constipation and Stiles' stubbornness don't help the situation. 

But Stiles is starting to _miss_ his wolf and he's tired of this not talking crap. His dad is at work for the late shift and Stiles is alone at home. He decides he's going to fix things, but that's going to require shaving first. So he stands up from his bed and is about to march to the shower when he hears the distinct sound of his window opening. 

Heart lurching, he turns and sees Derek climbing through with something of a guilty look. 

There's an awkward moment where they both just stand there, but Stiles drops his gaze and sucks it up. "Derek--"

"I'm sorry." Derek beats him to it. Derek _never_ apologizes, so it's startling to hear.

Stiles looks up and meets his gaze and suddenly all he wants is just to be close, but Derek beats him to that too; Derek closes the distance and has Stiles against the door in seconds, their mouths crushing together. Stiles always likes the slight pain that mixes with their pleasure, how their kisses are always _dirty_ , all teeth and tongue and beard burn. 

He isn't sure which one of them makes the first moan and he doesn't care. Stiles paws at Derek's shirt before his own is yanked off, their clothes falling piece by piece. 

When Derek's hand pauses briefly over Stiles' cock and he breaks the kiss to stare at him curiously. "You haven't shaved…"

Stiles blinks a few times, all the blood in his dick and not his brain. "No. Sorry, I--" His mouth clicks shut at the flash of _red_ in Derek's eyes and the utterly _wolfish_ smile that follows. It's pretty fitting, all things considered.

Before Stiles knows it, he's over Derek's shoulder and being toted to the bed. Claws gently prick the skin of his thighs before he’s tossed to the mattress, flailing briefly.

He grins widely up at the hungry wolf pressing him down.

That’s the last time Stiles manscapes.

* * *

**39.**

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

**The First Time Stiles Realises Derek Knows Morse Code**

They’ve done this before, on the rare occasion that the betas actually leave Derek’s loft and they don’t have to spend the precious alone-time trying to save Beacon Hills from another extremely dramatic emergency.

So it has happened. A few times. A few _good_ times.

It’s definitely more of a pattern than a few scattered occurrences by now, but it hasn’t happened often enough to erase the newness of it. The weight of Derek’s cock on his tongue is still something that makes Stiles intensely aware that he’s _blowing Derek Hale_. But the groan that Derek tries to hold back is familiar enough and Stiles knows exactly how to find it.

Derek leans back against the wall by the front door, where Stiles had pressed him back breathing heavily into their kiss instead of leaving (like he had actually intended to do).

“Scott’s waiting,” Derek had said, words muffled almost beyond recognition and all they’d done was remind Stiles how good Derek’s lips feel as they opened under his.

“I don’t think so.” Stiles had slipped his fingers under the shirt, curling them around Derek’s waist. “Scott’s cockblocked me enough for a lifetime, thanks.”

Derek hadn’t argued much after that, but Stiles has a feeling his persuasion skills lie in the way his wet lips sink down on Derek’s cock, and not really in his flawless argumentative techniques.

He opens his mouth wider, pressing his tongue wide to the underside of Derek's cock, dragging his tongue along the length until he can run the tip under the head. Derek's hand splays out over his neck, his thumb tapping against Stiles' jaw. It's the exact same spot as usual and Stiles is considering just getting Derek's handprint tattooed there.

Might be the easiest.

Derek's aborted little moans are his new favourite thing. Stiles switches favourite things fairly easily, granted, but he has a feeling this one is sticking around. And he knows his tongue is the absolutely surest way to those moans, so he's using that one for all it's worth.

Score one for Stiles against everyone who ever thought his tongue was only good for talking. He doesn't know if anyone's ever thought that, but it seems the sort of thing people _would_ think about him.

Stiles falters and tries to pull away when Derek’s moan turns into a snort – one that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

Reaching out to cup the back of Stiles’ head, Derek looks down at him, eyebrow raised. "You're tapping out your name in morse code on my dick."

"Oh," Stiles says, only to realise he's nearly gagging on cock. He pulls away and it bobs against his chin, leaving a trail of precome. "Uh, yeah. Didn't think you knew that."

Derek goes quiet, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks away for a moment until his expression loses some of the edge. “Best way to keep secrets in a big group of siblings.”

Even as Stiles gives a noncommittal hum, he knows he’s being utterly, bitterly betrayed by the hitch in his breath. He trails his finger along the zipper on Derek’s jeans before splaying his hand over the skin beneath.

“I just like knowing things,” he says, leaning forwards to press his cheek against Derek’s hip. “You never know when you’ll need them.”

Stiles looks up, smiling crookedly before leaning forwards to run his tongue along Derek’s cock, liking the way the jeans rub against his cheek. He pulls away a little, finding the angle where he can take Derek into his mouth again, tapping his tongue lightly against the tight, heated skin.

He can see Derek trying to focus, even as his mouth falls open and his hand tightens at the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles is caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to gag himself on the cock until Derek comes, but he just keeps tapping, his thumb rubbing circles on Derek’s skin.

“Yeah,” Derek says, breath getting stuck in his throat after Stiles has pressed the last letter of ‘fuck me’ into Derek’s skin. “Yes.”

* * *

**40.**

**Warnings:** Language  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 

When the bang resounds through the forest, Lydia freezes in her tracks, Allison throws herself to the floor, and the wolves howl at the full moon.

Stiles, gun still smoking in his hand, doesn't even blink.

*

"Stiles, Stiles, man, are you okay?" Scott is bearing down on him, almost-claws digging into Stiles' shoulders until he tears his gaze from the corpse to lock onto his best friend's face.

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, feeling the air rush out of his body, his entire frame sagging so the gun thuds to the ground. Suddenly he's being held up, secure arms wrapped around his back. 

"I've got you," Derek growls into his ear, and Stiles can't help a high-pitched giggle that eventually dissolves into stricken silence.

"Thanks," Stiles murmurs, and lets Derek carry him back home.

*

Scott tries to take the gun away, he thinks he and Allison are being discrete, but Stiles says no, _no_ , and they finally leave, worry painted wide open on their faces. 

The gun sits on the desk, untouched.

Derek kneels on the floor next to Stiles' legs, looking up with his classic blank expression. "You're okay," he says, a statement, not a question.

Stiles nods stiffly. "How did you feel?" he asks, and he doesn't need to clarify, because he and Derek, despite their differences, are the only two who sit on the same wavelength (of loneliness, of fierce loyalty, of loss).

Derek contemplates Stiles for a long time, eyes roving over the pinched edges of Stiles' eyes, the gaunt cheeks, the dark circles that speak of lost sleep.

"I felt like I had avenged her," Derek finally says, unblinking. "I felt justified."

Stiles' hand drifts over his heart, beating steadily against his chest. "Scott thinks I feel guilty. He thinks I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life." He laughs bitterly. "He thinks I'm broken. And he's right. Just not in the way he thinks. I can't even break properly, because I'm such a fuck-up."

Derek's hand covers Stiles', and Stiles doesn't push him away, doesn't say no.

"The worst thing would be if he doesn't wake up," Stiles says, breathing hard, "but if he does... if he does, I can't face him. I can't lie to my dad's face about his son," he swallows, choking on tears that don't surface, "becoming a killer, _for him_. And that it was the most fucking satisfying thing I've felt for _three weeks_. I felt _alive_."

"Stiles," Derek murmurs, and pulls him down so their lips meet. Stiles fists Derek's jacket with both hands and sobs into the kiss, tears sliding down Derek's beard.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles cries, and pulls Derek over him, onto him, to cover him whole.

*

"I don't want you think you're taking advantage," Stiles whispers fiercely into Derek's mouth as he straddles Derek's lap, rising up and sinking down with increasing ferocity, "because I want this, I need this, so please, _don't you dare apologise_ , because--"

Derek eats up Stiles' words until they're nothing but muffled moans, Derek's cock splitting Stiles wide open, Derek's hands holding tight on Stiles' hips, a stalwart support.

"Stiles," Derek whispers into his ear, one hand on Stiles' leaking cock, "come on, _come on, take it_ , Stiles, _Stiles_ \--"

And Stiles falls over the edge with Derek's cock in his ass, Derek's hand on his cock, and Derek holding him high enough to breathe.

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**41.**

**Pairing:** Scott/Isaac

“You should run with us tonight,” Isaac said, as Scott backed him up against the wall.

“Wha-? You want to talk about this now?” Scott asked, pulling back.

“You’re missing out.” Isaac shrugged. 

“Why?”

“It’ll be fun. You’ll be safer, too, in the pack. We all keep an eye on each other.” Isaac looked at Scott from under his curly hair, and Scott sighed and took a step back.

“Just think about it?” Isaac stepped closer, gripping Scott’s arm. Scott sighed again 

“Ok,” Scott said, burying his face in Isaac’s hair.

~~~

Scott sat, shuddering on his bed. He could feel the bones shifting beneath his skin, it used to make him queasy, like when he'd rode a rollercoaster when he was eight and ended up puking up his cotton candy. Now it just made him itch.

He could hear Derek's pack in the forest - just Derek, Isaac, and Peter now. The urge to howl was almost overwhelming. His mom was at the hospital, and won't be back until after he should've left for school. He'd barely finished his thought before the next one was chasing it. Scott wondered if this was what Stiles went through, before his meds. He’d never needed to run with the pack like this, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he did feel like he was missing out.

Scott made his way down the stairs, jumping down the stairs two at a time. He opened the front door, clawed nails scratching the paint. Scott hoped his mum wouldn’t notice, and walked out into the night. Smells and sounds assaulted him, and he shook his head slightly, filtering out all the unnecessary bits. He homed in on the pack and began to run. 

Scott headed to the forest, following the sounds and smells of the pack. He could make out the individuals, if he tried, but mostly the scents clumped together to form something undeniably them and together and pack. Scott felt a twinge in his chest, but shook it off. 

Scott paused on the edge of the forest. He took a deep breath in. Scott could smell Isaac before he saw him. Scott barely had time to turn before Isaac was on him, grinning. He shoved at Isaac, who just growled at him, and they rolled together on the forest floor.

~~~

“Last night was ok, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, smiling. 

Isaac nodded, not wanting to push it. He tugged Scott towards him and Scott pressed him against the locker, pressing his knees between Isaac’ legs. Isaac shuddered as his dick hardened, grinding his hips forward.

“We’ll have to be quick,” Isaac said, eyes darting to the locker room door.

“We’ll manage. We can make it a week of firsts,” Scott said. 

Isaac leaned forward and captured Scott’s mouth, sucking Scott’s bottom lip into his mouth and nipping at it. Scott’s hands found Isaac’s hips and pulled him closer, needing more friction. 

“Wait, wait,” Isaac said. He shoved at Scott, causing him to dig his fingers into Isaac’s hips. Isaac ignored him and tugged at their jeans, shoving them and their underwear down just enough to free their dicks. “Better,” he said. Scott grinned at him and wrapped a hand around Isaac’s dick, squeezing it. 

“Fuck,” Isaac groaned, head dropping to rest on Scott’s shoulder. He grasped Scott’s dick. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said, fucking Isaac’s fist. Isaac ran his thumb over the head of Scott’s dick, smearing the hot wetness there. Scott groaned, dick getting harder in his hand. 

“Feels good,” Isaac flushing hot all over. He could smell sex and sweat in the air, hear Scott’s heartbeat get faster. Isaac growled as Scott’s hand’s dug into his hip, drawing blood. He came all over Scott’s hand. Scott swore and lifted his hand to lick Isaac’s cum off his fingers, growling. 

Isaac whimpered and dropped to his knees, taking Scott into his mouth. Scott shouted as he came, one hand fisted against the locker door above Isaac’s head.

“Fuck, fuck,” Scott panted. “That was good.” 

Isaac grinned and stood back up. They re-arranged their clothing.

“You know, I’ve never done it outside either,” Isaac said.

“Meet me in the forest after school then,” Scott replied, grinning.

* * *

**42.**

**Pairing:** Allison/Derek

Allison looked both ways as she crossed the parking lot. She swore to herself this was the last time she'd skip class. It was important for her to focus, she knew that, but the stress was getting to her, and she'd needed to get away.

'A couple of hours away, and I'll be as good as new' She thought to herself as she started the car up. It wasn't long afterwards she parked her car on the edge of the woods, and started to just walk, not with any route in mind. Her crossbow hung at her side, just in case she needed it, but as far as she could tell, it was peaceful. By the time her senses told her to turn around, she was pinned to the ground, the stones and tree bark that scattered the ground digging into her skin.

"Didn't daddy tell you it's not safe to be wandering around on your own?" Smirked Derek, and Allison saw a hunger in his eyes. She struggled, but Derek had a strong grip on her wrists, and putting his whole weight on top of her, he kissed her mouth roughly, slipping his tongue in. Allison felt a heat in her crotch the deeper the kiss went, and Derek found himself being met with little resistance. With one hand, he held her wrists above her head, and with the other hand, he fumbled for the zipper of her jeans. Biting back the moan she was desperate to release, Allison writhed, pretending to put up a fight, but by now, her panties and jeans were around her knees, and Derek was pulling his cock from inside his pants.

"You're soaking wet." He groaned, holding his cock, and rubbing it up and down her entrance. "Don't even try to deny it, Allison. You want it."

"Derek..." The moan she'd been holding back slipped out, her body already on edge. "Please..."

"Please what?" He pulled away, rubbing her thigh, though never getting close enough to her crotch to help her with the need that was pushing her into overdrive.

"Derek..." She repeated again, and he raised his eyebrows, clearly getting frustrated with her - he was in no mood for her games right now. Pulling at her shirt, he watched as the buttons popped, leaving her bra exposed, and he dug his nails into her left breast, smirking at the scream she bit down.

"You're one bad hunter, you know that? Skipping school, getting turned on by someone like me... Then again, you've always liked the wild ones, haven't you?" He searched her eyes for argument but there were none. She looked away from his gaze, still silent. "Come on Allison. Just a few little words, and you'll get exactly what you want. Beg me, Allison." She swallowed her pride and hesitation, and once again, locked eyes with him, somewhat defiantly. Her tongue ran over her lips, wetting them, and as it drew back into her mouth, she could taste Derek on them.

"...Please fuck me, Derek. Please, I need it, I need you...." She panted, a low growl emitting from the back of her throat as he thrust his cock into her pussy.

"You good little girl..." He moaned, the hand gripping her wrists finally releasing to move down to her breasts, squeezing them as hard as he could, his nails drawing spots of blood. But Allison didn't notice, her head was thrown back and her back arching, so on edge, but holding off as much as she could. She didn't want it to be over - she'd never been so turned on before in her life.

"I'm gonna cum..." Came Derek's warning, only seconds before his body was pressed hard against hers, and Allison let out a scream as she was finally pushed over the edge. Carefully he withdrew, though Allison remained where she was, her body still twitching from her orgasm. Slowly, her eyes opened to find Derek crouching next to her, admiring her body.

"Now, what did we learn today?" He asked, helping her up, and Allison hugged herself, trying to cover up her shredded bra.

"No more skipping school." She said, her voice hoarse. Derek moved close to her, something which could have been menacing if Allison wasn't still so turned on. His palm swatted at her ass, and she jumped slightly, and Derek chuckled.

"That too. But I'm damn sure this won't be the last time we have a little fun, will it?"

* * *

**43.**

**Warnings:** Strong language, but nothing too bad.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Lydia

It was still dark when they made their way down to the beach area of the lake. Only crazy people came down there, and yet here they were. Lydia held Derek's hand as they walked along the trail, just a hint of twilight around them. The sunrise would be there soon enough but they had time. Faint moonlight reflected on the water of the lake and Derek led them down the beach to a large boulder. They moved around to the front and he stopped. It was an ideal spot because until you walked on the beach around the boulder or were on the water, they would be pretty much secluded. Plus they would have a block against the wind too.

"Here we go," he said and undid the blanket, fanning it out and down onto the sand before sitting down himself and reaching up for her. 

Lydia smiled and took his hand and moved to the blanket as well. She looked out toward the water and appreciated the amazing view. "It's so great out here," she said, leaning against him, wrapping her arms around him as they sat together.

Derek chuckled softly. "I can't believe this is your first sunrise," he said, his own arm moving around her shoulders.

"What can I say, I hadn't gotten to it on my bucket list yet, but I guess now I can cross it off."  
"Maybe we can cross a few more things before the day is over," he said, his fingers playing with her long braid.

The day was very slowly growing more bright but it would be minutes until the sun was hitting the horizon and coming up over the lake. It felt like they were completely alone, the only noise besides their whispered talking was water lapping at the shore and the occasional birds in the trees a bit behind them.

Lydia grinned and moved against him easily sliding into his lap, straddling him and looking to his face. "Maybe we should do something to occupy our time instead of just sitting, hmm?" She smirked as one hand moved down his body to his shorts and tugged at the waistband as she leaned in close to him and kissed him softly. Her nimble fingers had his shorts open easy enough and her hand slipped into wrap around his warm flesh and eased him out. "Mmm you feel so good."

Derek groaned deep, almost growling when she took control, and then touched him. She was a wicked tease and he couldn't love her more for it. His hands moved over her legs and up her thighs as they disappeared under her sundress. Further and further up until he reached her soft cotton panties and pulled them aside as he pulled her closer. Her legs slid around him and he was breathing harder as he smelled how so aroused and ready she already was for him. He buried him face against her neck as he slowly pushed inside of her.

"Oh fuck, that feels so damn good. More, so much more..." Lydia moaned and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back and moaning against his own mouth.  
The sun was starting to glow around them as they started moving as one, Derek thrusting harder and deeper inside of her. Lydia pressed her fingers against his back. She arches her back and pressed closer against him, using her legs to grind down against his hip.

Derek didn't say much but he was making more noises, louder and louder. Panting and moaning, growls here and there, he clung to her as they both rode further and further along and closer to the edge. He leaned in and kissed her hard again, sucking hard on her lips and murmuring her name. "I love you Lydia, I love you so much."

Lydia whimpered as her hips moved and Derek moved harder and faster inside of her. This was perfect, better than she could have thought up herself. The rock behind them lit up as the sun started above the horizon and everything was starting to glow yellow and the day was waking up. She moved and tugged at her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head and dropped it to the side of them on the blanket. It was a pretty good guess that they weren't going anywhere else today and Lydia was okay with that.

* * *

**44.**

**Pairing:** Danny/Stiles

"Does it always feel like this?" Danny asks, fumbling with Stiles' belt buckle. His fingers are warm where they skim over Stiles' bare skin, smooth and silky, buzzing a little, just like Stiles.

Stiles hums in agreement, too busy kissing Danny to answer properly. All of his limbs feel loose and light, like he'd float away if Danny wasn't pinning him to the forest floor, lush and eager and clumsy with euphoria. "Not always this intense," Stiles sighs as Danny moves on to Stiles' neck, "but yeah. It's the power drop. Best kind of high." 

Danny finally gets Stiles' pants open and there's a lot of squirming after that. Both of them settle with their pants scrunched up past their knees, each of them palming wide swaths of skin and muscle. Every time Danny rolls his hips into Stiles, their cocks bump together and Stiles sees honest-to-god sparks, white-red-gold, behind his eyes. 

With all struggling, Danny slips to one side, leaving half of Stiles cold and bereft. "You have to--" Stiles grunts, and nudges Danny around until he's a long line of heat all along Stiles' front. He drags his palms up Danny's sides in a slow, sweet slide, and is rewarded with a full body shiver, a moan, and Danny's mouth, lush and wet, on his nipple. 

Their hips find a rhythm with Stiles' help, his grip on Danny's waist greedy. Luckily, Danny doesn't seem to mind. His hands cling tight to Stiles' hair, tilting Stiles' head to give him more room to suck at Stiles' neck and shoulder, teeth digging in at Stiles' pulse. 

Their desperate, breathless moans sound loud in the silence; it feels like even the trees are waiting for Danny and Stiles before they take a relieved breath, free of the malevolent spirits that tried to stake a claim on this tiny section of Hale land.

Stiles can feel it building in his bones, a low pressure that aches in the sweetest way, in each joint and muscle, until he feels fairly glowing with it, high and smiling and so full of everything around him. He muffles his giddy laugh against Danny's neck, pulling him close until all he can feel and smell and _taste_ is Danny; his skin and his smile and his warmth.

"Stiles, I'm gonna--" Danny gasps, sounding euphoric, fingers curled tight in Stiles' wild hair, his body breaking down into a jerky rocking motion. His open mouth bumps into Stiles' cheek and chin, his nose and eyebrow. It's perfect and imperfect and Stiles doesn't want it to end.

"Yeah, fuck, _c'mon_ ," Stiles growls anyway, nails digging into Danny's ass, dragging him closer.

"Oh shit," Danny rasps, going still, and even with his eyes all blurry from sweat, Stiles can still make out the little furrow of Danny's eyebrows, the in-out flash of his dimples as he comes, pulling on Stiles' hair until Stiles' neck arches and he rolls into it, adding to the mess between them.

The quiet stillness after a casting is the part Stiles likes most. Coming down with Danny on top of him, though, is even better, and a not small part of Stiles is thrilled that he's finally sharing this part of himself with Danny. Though his abilities have never been a secret, Stiles has always understood how unnerving watching it happen can be. Stiles mentally kicks himself for underestimating Danny's tolerance for the weird and wacky. Danny's best friend _is_ Jackson, after all.

"We should get cleaned up," Danny murmurs after a while, once the sweat and come have congealed into an unpleasant mess. He's a little wobbly getting up on his knees and his smile looks even more unsure. It's not a smile Stiles is familiar with, nor does he want to be.

"Hey," Stiles says, pulling Danny close with their fingers tangled together. "Thanks for coming." He means so much more than that, because Danny doesn't understand, yet, how the magic could swallow Stiles whole if he let it, but that's something for later. For when they're both not hyped up on freaky magic adrenalin and post-orgasm endorphins.

Danny seems to get it, in any case, and his smile firms up. "Thanks for asking," he says, yanking Stiles up to stand. Danny even offers Stiles' his shirt to wipe off with, but Stiles pushes it away, grinning, and tugs Danny into a soft kiss.

"No way am I passing up the chance to freak Jackson the hell out."

* * *

**45.**

**Pairings:** Danny/Stiles

**The First and The Last**

**The first time Danny offers Stiles help with lacrosse** they’re in chemistry. He thinks shouldn’t get Stiles in more trouble with Mr. Harris for talking, but can’t find it in himself to care, so he asks him anyway.

Stiles looks genuinely confused, his mouth hanging open for a long time, but he finally smiles at Danny, nods. Something that has been clenching in the pit of Dany’s stomach loosens then and he makes a conscious effort to tamp down the grin he feels getting ready to split his face.

“Cool,” Danny says, trying to sound and look as nonchalant as he can. He doesn’t know when Stiles first started to actually _appeal_ to him, and he’s not sure how he feels about it, but... “After school, then?”

Stiles nods his head enthusiastically and opens his mouth to respond, but Mr. Harris interrupts with, “Do you want to spend the afternoon in detention, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Ha! Nope,” Stiles says, all sarcasm and smiles. Danny tries not to laugh when Mr. Harris rolls his eyes, turns back to the board.

*****

**The last time Stiles shows Danny his folklore collection** he doesn’t take it well.

“Seriously!. Don’t wanna know!” Danny says, grabbing his backpack from Stiles’ bed. They’d been studying for the upcoming chemistry test, but Stiles is easily distracted and Danny is newly in-the-know about all supernatural shenanigans, so... He couldn’t help himself!

“It’s not _all_ real,” Stiles tries and chases after Danny as he makes his way out of the bedroom, down the hall.

Danny is halfway down the stairs. “ _So_ don’t care.” 

Stiles is sort of panicking. Danny _can’t_ leave and his arm flies out of it’s own accord. He grabs Danny’s bicep, stopping him. “Okay, okay,” Stiles says. “I’m sorry. Just.” Danny turns, looks, and Stiles can feel his grip tighten on his arm. “Please. Stay.”

Danny hesitates long enough that Stiles feels like he may have lost something before he even had it and that is absolutely terrifying on _so_ many levels. But just as he’s working himself into half a panic attack, Danny sighs. “Fine. Just. Put it away, okay? All of it.”

Stiles nods quickly, instantly calmer. “Yeah. Of course.”

*****

**The first time Stiles makes Danny his mom’s special chocolate chip cookies** the Pack eats all but two of them before Stiles can stop them and Danny can even get to the meeting. By the time Derek goes to grab both of them at the same time, Stiles is at his wits end. He blames what he does next on pure desperation.

Flinging himself across the coffee table, he tackles Derek into the bean bag on the other side.

Of course, Derek half wolfs out, his eyes bleeding red and pretty much making Stiles shit himself, but dammit, they are _Danny’s_ cookies! So, Stiles will hold his ground on this somehow.

Five minutes later when Danny walks in the room, all the Betas are enthusiastically chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” and Stiles drops them into asshole territory for life. He’s hiding behind the couch, while Derek stares him down like he would love to eat Stiles’ insides, then follow them up with the delicious cookies. 

Danny folds himself down on the loveseat, looking completely unimpressed with everything Pack and grabs a cookie. “What did I miss?” he asks and pops half the cookie in his mouth.

Stiles, momentarily distracted by Danny’s blissed out face from the taste, misses the way Derek smirks. Moments later, he finds himself flat on his back, Derek growling triumphantly on top of him.

There are bruises the next day, but it’s okay because Danny loved the cookies.

*****

**The last time Danny invites Stiles over to study** it’s actually just a ruse to get Stiles over to his house. Because it’s been six months since he first asked him if he wanted help with lacrosse and Danny is done waiting.

He just _wants_.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles moans loudly and Danny has to hold him down with one of his legs so he doesn’t get kneed in the face. Because Stiles tastes just as amazing as he imagined and nothing is going to stop Danny from sucking his brains out through his cock. _Nothing_.

Of course, that’s when Jackson slides in Danny’s window shouting, “Faeries, man. Fucking fae- oh my _GOD_! No! Ew ew ew!”

That is the first and last time Jackson uses Danny’s window. Danny is surprisingly okay with it.

* * *

**46.**

**Warnings:** Blood, Violence, Minor Character Death  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Isaac

“He bears no other valuable information,” Jackson says about the slave-trader at Derek’s feet. “It’s time to be gone from this place.”

When he raises his hand to deliver the killing blow, however, Derek holds out his hand. “Wait.” His eyes move from condemned man to the gathering of people behind Jackson. “Isaac. Come.”

Surprise flickers across Isaac’s face but he steps forward obediently, coming to stand beside Derek. Jackson gives a derisive snort. 

“Him?” He sneers. “He hasn’t the stomach for violence.”

In some ways, he is right. Isaac was a body slave before being freed; he is soft where they are hard. Still, Derek sees within him the potential for more and he will see that potential nurtured. He removes a dagger from his belt.

“Leave us,” he says. Jackson moves to protest but a dark look from Derek stays his tongue; he scowls at Isaac before following the other men out of the room. When they’re alone, Derek steps up behind Isaac until their bodies are flush together, placing his free hand on Isaac’s hip.

“Take the blade,” he says into Isaac’s ear, offering up the dagger on his palm.

Isaac does, leaning back into Derek’s embrace. He is calm in Derek’s arms the way he is with no one else; it stirs a dark, possessive nature that Isaac only encourages.

“You’ve never killed a man before, have you?” He asks, moving Isaac to stand behind the man. Isaac shakes his head. “Tonight, I would change that.”

“This would please you?” Isaac asks, turning to glance at Derek over his shoulder.

Derek smiles. “It would please me very much.”

Isaac nods, his grip tightening on the blade as he turns back to the man before him. Derek presses closer to him still, allowing his hand to cover Isaac’s over the blade. He takes the slave trader by the hair, wrenching his head back, and moves their hands to the man’s throat.

“You must not hesitant. You must not cut too shallow.” He nuzzles behind Isaac’s ear and enjoys the shiver that passes through him. “Show no mercy.”

Derek squeezes Isaac’s hand and then moves it away, letting it rest on Isaac’s shoulder as he waits for Isaac to choose the moment. Seconds pass before Isaac finally moves the blade across the slave trader’s throat and when he does, it is just as Derek commanded; quick and deep. The man gurgles, his blood spilling across their and then, when Derek lets go of his head, he falls to the ground. The knife falls with him and Isaac slowly turns his palms up to witness the blood now upon his hands.

When Isaac has stood too long staring at his palms, Derek spins them around and presses Isaac against the nearest wall. Isaac relaxes against him, as predicted, and arches up into him as their lips meet softly.

“It was necessary,” Derek says between kisses, cradling Isaac’s face in his palm. “And you’re okay. Tell me.”

“I’m okay,” Isaac repeats dutifully, relaxing against Derek. Then, cautiously, he asks, “I did well?”

With a laugh, Derek allows his hands to move down and divest Isaac of the cloth that covers his groin. Isaac whines, licking at Derek’s palm when it’s offered to him. He knows what’s coming and he is eager for it, eager to let Derek distract him.

“You were perfect,” Derek tells him as his hand slips down to curl around Isaac’s cock. “I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

Isaac’s laughter turns into a moan when Derek begins to work him. He sets a slow, leisurely pace, intent to draw out the pleasure until Isaac is lost in it, aware of nothing but Derek’s touch, his kiss, and the heat building in his groin. Isaac is beautiful when he falls apart and Derek never tires of seeing it, craves the sight every time they touch.

“Derek.” Isaac whimpers, fingernails digging into Derek’s shoulders. “Please.”

Derek groans, helpless against such a plea, and sets a new pace; this one fast, rough. He sets his mouth against Isaac’s ear as Isaac’s cries rise in pitch.

“Now,” he whispers and Isaac surges with a hoarse cry, spilling over Derek’s hand.

Their mouths meet again, this time slowly, before Isaac pushes Derek away with a smile. “Now you,” he says and drops to his knees.

* * *

**47.**

**Warnings:** 2nd person  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Do you remember the first time you said you loved me? 

It was another werewolf shitstorm kind of like this one. Well. Almost. You weren’t lying on the ground with a giant hole in your stomach and a broken leg -- thanks, by the way. First time I’ve ever had to set a broken bone. Really, one of the greatest moments of my life, big guy. A plus, would recommend -- it was just me with a tiny scratch and you freaking out.

You took me back to the loft after we got bandaged up, undressed and tucked us both into bed, just holding me. Your kisses started soft and gentle, barely-there caresses against my skin. Your hands were tender as they cradled my face, as though you were afraid I'd disappear and this was how you'd convince me to stay.

But then I tangled my hands in your hair, holding you against me, and ran my nails down your back just like you like it. Your kisses got harder, your hands started to roam, and oh! This was where it started to get good.

Don’t get me wrong. The softer side of the big, bad Alpha’s great and all; but we’d just been in a life or death situation! It was time for the life affirmation portion of the evening!

I forced your head back up from where you'd been sucking marks into my collarbone and kissed you, hard and wet and deep, just like you like it. Your growling moan went right through me, and I arched up; but you held me down and dragged your teeth across my neck.

Looking up, I could see that your eyes were glowing red, your fangs were showing; and oh, man, did that just turn me on even more! Love it when you go feral, did I ever tell you that? I know you have issues with it, but I trust you with everything. I know you won't hurt me.

From there, things are kind of a blur of you licking and sucking, dragging those gorgeous hands all over me, the pinprick of your claws a trail of fire down my skin. The click of the lube surprised me, but I was ready for the feel of your blunt, human finger as you reached down to play with my hole.

You’re such a tease, you know that? You just played, circling your finger around my rim, then barely pushing in, rubbing slowly and sliding in and out, just enough to drive me crazy but not enough to actually _do_ anything, no matter how much I bucked and whined and begged.

But then, mmmmm, then you brought your other slicked up hand to the base of my cock and held it just this side of too tight, giving me something to thrust into. At first, I thought you were going to be a sadistic bastard and just tease because you wouldn’t let more than my shaft into your hand. But then you mouth -- Oh, God, your mouth! It was so tight and wet as your lips wrapped around my tip. 

You give, like, the _best_ blowjobs, I really should tell you that more often. This was no exception. The suction was just _amazing_ and the things you do with your tongue! God, I am completely ruined for anyone else ever. 

And all the while you’re blowing me, that finger in my ass hadn’t stilled. Only now, it was two fingers; and they were deeper than just my rim. You’d let go of my dick and started bobbing your head, taking me as deep as you could while your fingers thrust in and out, faster and faster until finally you caught that spot and I just couldn’t --

Yeah. I was gone, man. Solid gone. May have even whited out there for a second. But when I came back down, you were holding me, running your hand down my side and nuzzling at my neck. You kissed me right behind my ear and whispered those words. Don’t think I was really supposed to hear, you were so quiet.

And now here we are, another clusterfuck of injury proportions, with a bit of wolfsbane on the side. I can hear the pack howling, by the way, so you’re gonna be okay. You’ll have another chance to tell me. That won’t be the last time I get to hear you say it.

* * *

**48.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

It isn't like Stiles has a list of sex-stuff he wants to try it's just... fuck it, fine, Stiles has a list. It's not just sex stuff, promise. It's like, 'boy/girlfriend stuff', one of which he now has.

"Stiles, we can't have sex in the Camaro, it just _won't work_. There's not enough headroom, it's only a two-door. You'd end up hurt."

"You're such a killjoy. Fine. What about the Jeep?"

"It. Won't. Work."

"You won't even try! You don't know it's not possible until you _try_. Derek..." Stiles whines.

"Fine. But if you end up in hospital, you're explaining to the nurse, who will probably be Scott's mom, how it happened."

"No worries, she loves me. Grab the lube, I'll drive."

*

Stiles parks as deep in the preserve as he can, it's mid-summer but this area should be quiet enough. Besides, Derek'll hear anyone approaching.

"This feels kinda naughty, like, the sun's out and we're about to fuck out," Stiles grins, pulling off his t-shirt.

He licks his lips as Derek strips off his tank, hands dropping, unbuckling his belt. "You realize if anyone _does_ catch us, it's your dad that they'll--"

"Look, just, shut up and let me--" Stiles reaches over and pulls Derek's fly down, slipping a hand inside so he can feel the hard line of Derek's cock.

Derek groans, trying to spread his legs wider, hitting the gear shift. He growls, low and irritated.

"Dude, you're totally into this, you're _already hard_." Stiles slips his hand up, under the waistband of Derek's boxer-briefs to get his hand on Derek's cock.

"You're an idiot," Derek says, cupping a hand around the back of Stiles's neck and pulling him over for a kiss.

Stiles fucking loves kissing Derek, he loves the rasp of Derek's stubble against his skin, he loves knowing people will be able to tell what he's been doing.

Derek makes a noise into the kiss, tongue curling around Stiles's own. Stiles makes a move to straddle Derek, but instead lets out a shout. "Fuck!" He pulls his hand off of Derek to soothe the throbbing pain in his leg where he's smashed it into the steering wheel.

Derek's slouched back in the passenger seat, red cock head trapped against his body by the elastic of his underwear.

"This looks so much fucking easier on TV," Stiles complains. This isn't fair, Stiles just wants to fuck his boyfriend in a car.

Derek sighs, rubbing a hand up the back of Stiles's buzzcut. Stiles tries not to shudder and fails, he fucking loves it when Derek does that. "Maybe if I reclined the seat, we could--" Derek offers.

He shakes his head. "Neither reclines, only the driver's seat moves at all." Stroking Betty's steering wheel he says mournfully, "Baby, I love you but this isn't working."

Derek kisses gently at Stiles's jaw. "I think--"

"You don't need to say it, _fine_ you were right." His mood's totally killed. He sullenly says, "We can go back to yours and fuck on your bed."

"That wasn't what I was going to say." He murmurs and carries on moving down, kissing at Stiles's neck.

Stiles arches his neck to give Derek access and is rewarded but the warm press of Derek's lips, and the sinfully wet feel of his mouth. "Well? What were you going to say?"

Derek whispers in Stiles's ear, "I was gonna say we could fuck on the hood."

Stiles's breath catches. "Oh."

"Yeah." He can feel Derek's smile pressed into the thin skin below his ear a second before Derek starts sucking a hickey into it. Fucking werewolves, man.

"Yeah..." Stiles echoes, sex-stupid. "Hey! We better not scratch the paintwork." 

Derek snorts, whuffing hot breath onto his spit-slick neck and causing Stiles to shiver. "Don't worry, we won't be wearing any clothes."

"Oh, _yeah_."

Derek's tugging at Stiles's jeans now, and Stiles bends down to give him a hand, and nearly brains himself on his steering wheel.

Derek pulls back to give him a look that says, 'are you fucking kidding me right now?'

"Hey, most of my blood's in my dick. Don't expect me smart." Stiles blushes.

Derek snorts again. "You're an idiot."

Stiles grins back at him. " _Your_ idiot."

He doesn't get a reply, just the warm-slick press of Derek's lips against his own.

So as it turns out, his Jeep? Not the best to fuck in. But _perfect_ to fuck _on_.

* * *

**49.**

**Warnings:** Underage, age-difference, authority figure, medical kink (flea treatment)  
 **Pairing:** Deaton/Scott

The first time Scott gets fleas is on his second week working for Deaton, who's still only that odd man his mother volunteered him to after learning he was looking for an assistant. 

((Scott, embarrassed, had hissed in protest but she had given him The Look that promised dire things if he objected. She was right, anyway: Scott needed the money if he wanted that guitar he'd seen. ))

Scott, normally in charge of sweeping the floor and manning the reception desk, is handed a box full of kittens found in a barn. He sets it on the examination table while Deaton puts on gloves. One of the quivering balls of fluff paws the box, mews, and Scott's heart melts. He picks it - he looks, the way he's seen Deaton do last week- _her_ up and rubs his cheek against her tiny adorable face. That's when he notices that there are tiny dots all over her. 

When he asks Deaton about them, Deaton turns around, and does a resigned but amused face that Scott would later learn means he's laughing at you. 

Scott ends up sitting on the examination table himself while Deaton combs his dense hair. Scott feels kind of stupid. "Are you going to fire me?"

Deaton laughs. "Of course not. You couldn't have known."

"You did," Scott points out. "Could you teach me how to know? And how to help the kittens?" 

After a beat, Deaton does. He explains different types of fleas, their individual treatments while checking and scraping Scott's scalp. Deaton uses medical terms that Scott half recognises from his mother's books, and Scott nods along or asks questions when he misses something. Deaton's voice is calm, warm, and it sinks right into Scott's core. By the time he leaves, all the kittens have been shampooed and Scott is eager to come back tomorrow. 

 

The second time, it's after Scott won over a Lox. He's at Deaton's to borrow his first-aid kit, at Stiles's insistence. Deaton notices the fleas, but Scott waves him off, still reeling so much on the adrenaline rush he can't wolf _off_. "It's fine, human fleas and animals fleas are different, right? I'll just comb later." 

In the long pause that follows, Scott replays his words, observes the situation, and realisation hits. "Oh shit, I'm a werewolf now!"

Scott uses the dog shampoo and rinses himself in the back sink, careful with his claws. His heart can't stop trying to beat out of his chest. He's a wolf, he battles monsters, he ruined his hoodie _again_ , and he can get fleas. What is his _life_.

Deaton combs through his wet hair to check no fleas are left. His palm is large and heavy on Scott's shoulder, his thumb sweeping up and down a clavicle. "Can you shift back?" 

"Can't," Scott says, picking at the bandages on his arm. His eyes feel hot. He can't go home like this. What would his mom say?

Deaton hums and continues grooming Scott, his sideburns, his arms, his legs. He tells Scott what happened that day, how each animal is doing. He’s careful and attentive, and his body is in constant contact with Scott’s. He’s present and soft in every way. When the movement of Deaton’s gloves start to blur, Scott closes his eyes and sways into Deaton’s touches. 

After a long while, Scott realises that his fingernails are square, that his heartbeat is slow like he’s asleep. He does feel very fuzzy. There’s a weight on his shoulders that smells like Deaton and leather. Deaton guides him unto the back area couch, closes the light and leaves him alone. Scott distantly hears him talking to Melissa over the phone, but he can’t seem to care. Deaton has everything under control. 

It’s only when he rolls down to his front that Scott realises he’s hard. 

He beats off slowly, burrowing his face into Deaton’s coat. He’s safe, cozy. He feels like he could masturbate for hours. His eventual orgasm takes him by surprise, makes him gasp. On the next exhale, he’s fast asleep.

 

The last time Scott gets fleas, Scott is laughing but also nervous. “Is this really necessary?”

Deaton's eyes are shining with mirth. “Yes, it absolutely is.”

Scott’s examines the curling heat in his belly at the idea. There’s embarrassment, but also playfulness and belonging. There’s a lot of trust. “Okay.” 

He bares his neck to Deaton, who slips the flea collar around Scott's neck, and keeps his hands there.

* * *

**50.**

**Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

It starts like this: with forty dollars worth of plastic and electronics crumpled in Scott's hands.

"This is the last time!" Stiles cries. "I am one thousand percent serious, the _last time_. Never again!"

Scott looks mournfully down at the shattered controller in his hands. "I'm really sorry."

"No! I will not be swayed by those puppy dog eyes. That's the third one you've broken in a _month_. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, but my wallet can't take it. I have to put my foot down." He takes a deep breath and says it. "No more Call of Duty."

Scott just gives him this wounded, horrified look, like he didn't expect Stiles to actually go through with it. "It was an accident!"

"I know, buddy. I know." Styles sighs and flops down on the couch next to him. "C'mon, don't look at me like that. We'll find something else to do together. Something that doesn't rile up those animal urges."

#

It's not as simple as that, of course. They've got many years of friendship built on the foundation of playing violent video games together. Scott's Netflix queue gets them through another week, but then they're back to boredom and Scott eyeing the PS3, conspicuously wondering what it would take to get Stiles to lift the Call of Duty embargo.

They compromise with computer games. Scott brings his laptop over and Stiles relents because at least if Scott breaks something, it'll be his own stuff, not Stiles's.

They make it another week before some asshat on their own team kills Scott when he's having a bad day and Scott smashes his first into the keyboard with a growl and that spells the end of his laptop.

Stiles expresses his condolences and starts counting. It takes three days before Scott caves and asks if he can use Stiles's computer. Stiles is grudgingly imposed he lasted that long.

"Please!" Scott begs. "You know Mr. Harris will never let me hear the end of it if I turn in a hand written lab report. I only need half an hour, I swear. And there's no way I'm going to get invested enough in Chem homework to start breaking things."

Stiles relents, because that's what best friends do. He goes downstairs to get pizza and soda, and takes his time about it since there's not much else to do. When he comes back upstairs, Scott startles and gives him such a guilty look that Stiles stops breathing.

"I wasn't snooping, I swear!"

Stiles's lungs restart, but now he's worried for a while new reason. He circles around and discovers that it's petty much as bad as he feared. Scout has found his porn.

"That is snooping," Stiles says. "That is the _definition_ of snooping." He knows for a fact that his porn is buried five levels deep, in the recesses of the most boringly-named folders he could think of. "You brought this on yourself, and I have no sympathy for you if you've been traumatized for life."

Scott shakes his head. "I'm not traumatized," he says slowly, and his gaze stays steady on Stiles and his tongue comes out to run across his lip and Stiles is caught, staring, _hurting_ , because there's no way this can go where he wants it to and that's just plain unfair.

Maybe Scott reads it in his face or hears it in the thump of his heart, but he turns away from the computer, catches a handful of Stiles's shirt, and kisses him.

#

And it ends like this: With Stiles on his knees in front of the computer chair and Scott's dick in his mouth. Scott's moaning, twisting, writhing, his hands closed around empty air because Stiles told him that if he could make it through a blowjob without destroying something, then he'd declare Scott's animal urges officially conquered and lift the PS3 moratorium.

He isn't at all surprised when Scott tears the armrests off the chair with a shriek of metal. He expected something like that would happen. This wasn't ever really about the game.

So they never play Call of Duty again, but they're too busy exploring all the much more interesting ways two people can pass the time together to mind the loss.

* * *

**51.**

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

“Distract him.”

“Uh,” Stiles says, “neither my soothing voice nor my rapier wit have been much help here.”

On the table, Derek growls and thrashes. He’s strapped down with wolfsbane rope, but it won’t hold forever and digging the shrapnel out of his shoulder is a delicate job. The bullet itself hadn’t been filled with wolfsbane – at least no variant Deaton knew – but whatever was in it is keeping Derek half-feral. 

“ _Then figure something else out_ ,” Deaton snaps.

Stiles looks down at Derek and takes a deep breath. “Okay, big guy, here goes…”

He moves to stand behind Derek’s head and digs a hand into his hair. It’s forbidden fruit, something Stiles has always wanted to touch but never dared. But it makes Derek’s whole body arch up, straining the ropes. Then Stiles starts rubbing his fingers in small, tight circles, and Derek slowly relaxes back to the table.

Deaton goes back to digging into Derek’s shoulder with the scalpel. Derek whines, but Stiles shushes him softly and brings his other hand up to scritch his short fingernails lightly across Derek’s scalp.

Afterwards, Stiles assumes Derek remembers none of it. Doesn’t mean Stiles can stop thinking about it, though. How soft Derek’s hair felt under his fingers. The sound he made when Stiles squeezed bunches of Derek’s hair in his fists. Derek would be a lot less grouchy if Stiles gave him scalp rubs regularly.

So when the pack’s watching The Avengers at the loft and Derek’s sitting on the floor in front of Stiles, he stealthily lets his hand drop to start stroking through Derek’s hair. Derek slumps back against the couch, relaxing under Stiles’ ministrations… until he reaches up and bats Stiles’ hand away.

When the movie’s over, everyone starts filtering out. But just as Stiles reaches the door, he hears Derek call his name. Stiles winces. “I’m Scott’s ride, so—”

“Isaac can take him,” Derek says sternly, and everyone just files out like good little ducklings.

When it’s just Stiles and Derek left, Stiles finds himself pressed to the wall, Derek’s lips against his, and Stiles reaches for the only thing he can think of – Derek’s hair. The kiss starts out surprisingly gentle, but when Stiles’ fingers clench reflexively, it turns _hungry_. 

As suddenly as it started, it stops, and Stiles is left gasping and confused. But then Derek is dropping easily to his knees, working at Stiles’ belt and fly.

Derek is clean-shaven for once, his cheek surprisingly soft against Stiles’ rapidly hardening cock. When he buries his nose against the curls at Stiles’ groin and inhales deeply, Stiles nearly topples forward. Derek first steadies Stiles’ hips, then very deliberately takes Stiles’ hands, one at a time, and places them on his own head.

Oh.

The only warning Stiles gets is “You can pull if you want” before Derek’s mouth is on him. Stiles yelps and takes a moment to be thankful for Derek’s permission, because he’s got a thick fistful of Derek’s hair in each hand. With a groan, Derek sinks deeper onto Stiles’ cock before pulling back with hard, sucking pressure.

As Derek settles into a rhythm, Stiles tries to do the same, alternating firm circles against Derek’s scalp with long strokes of his fingernails. Whenever Derek’s tongue finds a particularly good spot, Stiles tugs urgently at Derek’s hair. Soon, beneath the wet, obscene sounds of Derek’s mouth, Stiles can hear Derek tug down his own zipper and start stroking himself.

Just the thought of it makes Stiles’ legs start to shake. All Derek has to do is sink down once more, twisting his tongue against the underside of Stiles’ cock, and Stiles is done for. Derek doesn’t seem surprised, though, just swallows him down and keeps sucking until Stiles has to actually pull him away.

Stiles is trying to get his breath back when Derek buries his face against Stiles’ hip and moans hoarsely. He sounds like he’s close, so Stiles urges him on with nails pressed to his scalp, raking lines all the way from the short hair at the nape of Derek’s neck up over the crown of his head, again and again until Derek goes rigid against Stiles for a few seconds before practically collapsing.

Stiles keeps idly stroking Derek’s hair, giving it a light tug every once in a while until he can form words again. “So, uh, you remember that night at Deaton’s?”

“Yes.”

“Then why—”

“Just… not in front of the betas.”

* * *

**52.**

**Warnings:** Exhibitionism.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles 

**First time Stiles is invited into the puppy pack pile**

Usually after nights like this where he’d been roughed up, Stiles would find himself back at his house, sneaking up to his room mouse-quiet and thankful his dad was on the night shift. Usually after nights like this, Stiles was alone.

Instead, Stiles had the ghost of someone’s broad hands skimming up under his shirt to check for cracked ribs and fingers at his temples to remind him that he wasn’t going to be alone, this time. He’d been manhandled, wolfhandled even, into the Camaro once it was confirmed he didn’t need medical attention after their tussle with those Sasquatch-y things. The thought warmed him more than he’d ever admit.

He was almost snoring by the time the car rolled to a stop, and realized then that Derek had driven him to the loft. Derek’s loft. For a cuddle puddle. He looked over at the driver’s seat, only to realize Derek had stepped out already and was rounding the hood of the car to open the door for him.

“C’mon, get out,” said Derek.

“Such chivalry.”

If Stiles wasn’t totally beat and kind of sore all over, he would have sworn that Derek’s mouth twitched a little into a smile underneath the blood and dirt. Instead of replying, Derek wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him up to the front door, not once letting go.

“So, this is a thing,” Stiles croaked once they’d opened the door to an island of mattresses and blankets where there once had been living room furniture. Stiles stood by the pile of werewolves sprawled across the sea of blankets, feeling awkward in his own skin once Derek’s hand left his hip. Eventually, he decided on a mattress in the middle and shimmied under the duvet until he was warm and snug, humming at the tangible undercurrent of pack that surrounded him.

Stiles woke sometime later, feeling a dip on the mattress and a wolf-hot body sliding under the covers along his back.

“Hrmf?” he grunted, and was promptly shushed by a comforting growl that vibrated the bed. He squinted into the dark, looking out at the lumpy shapes across the room before trying to turn and say hello to his new bedmate.

Hands were on waist before he’d even hissed out his pain, and then Stiles was blinking at Derek’s shadowy face.

“Scott’s been teaching me how to take away pain…” Derek whispered after a moment.

Derek pressed down a little on Stiles’ chest, then Stiles’s pain was being flushed out by warmth, and good, and calm, and, light, and Lord this was seriously potent shit. After a couple seconds, Stiles was gasping, and Derek’s fingers stuttered against Stiles’ shirt before he retreated entirely.

“I think I went overboard,” Derek admitted, watching the shadowy lines fade into his skin until Stiles distracted him by arching a little into his space. Even through the goopy pleasure, Stiles was still fascinated with that vulnerable look on Derek’s face.

“Fuck, yeah, so? S’good,” Stiles sighed around a smile.

A smile which was promptly smushed by someone else’s lips.

Stiles clutched at Derek’s shoulders and held on, through the scruffy kisses and teasing bites across his neck that made his stomach clench and his skin tingle, until he was shoving his hands into Derek’s hair instead, pressed up against Derek from knee to chest. He was thanked for his efforts with a fraught little growl, and another whine again when Derek fit himself between Stiles’ legs.

“Shh,” Stiles whispered, brushing a hand down Derek’s nape before his wrists were snatched up and pinned above him. It was all slow, rolling hips after that, and gazing through half-lidded eyes as Derek’s eyes flashed red when Stiles’ hips juddered just so, or when his heel pressed into Derek’s ass, or when Stiles couldn’t help the jumble of near-silent praise from spilling out into the air between them.

“Yes,” Derek muttered against Stiles’ cheek, clearly picking up whatever Stiles was putting down, and then Stiles was too gone to care because Derek had his wrists in one hand and his dick in the other, and Stiles was coming his brains out.

He murmured through Derek’s stuttering climax, noodle-happy, wrapping Derek into a hug once his hands were free.

“This should happen even when we’re not battered and bruised, just saying,” Stiles said after a moment.

“Oh my god, go to sleep!” Isaac moaned from a bed or two away.

Derek just tucked his nose into Stiles’ neck and smiled.

* * *

**53.**

**Warnings:** biting, rough sex, voyeurism   
**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**_Wild in the Night_ **

It's strange, almost surreal to run through these woods, night a heavy weight pressing between the trees, and not be afraid. Stiles can hear the sharp snap of branches, flashes of motion out of the corner of his eye, brief flashes of fanged grins beneath glowing gold and blue. It's strange but exhilarating, a laugh caught in the back of his throat as Erica and Boyd spill across his path, locked in a mock battle before vanishing into the trees.

Stiles thinks he can get used to this, laughter and mock growls beneath the full moon rather than grinding snarls and the rattle of chain stretched to the brink.

He's leaning against a tree to catch his breath, forearm braced against the rough bark, when an arm slides around his waist, drawing him back against a solid chest that is just ridiculous. A hot mouth drags up the side of his neck and he laughs, "Let me guess, I'm totally Red Riding Hood in this scenario, aren't I?"

Derek huffs but Stiles thinks he sounds more approving of the idea than put off. "Having fun?"

"I guess." Stiles shrugs, "But it's just not the same without all the terrified running and high pitched screaming." He shakes his head. "I'm going to lose so much lung capacity at this rate."

"We wouldn't want that." Stiles feels Derek's lips curve into a "just ate Grandma" smile and panics just as Derek's leg curls around his and sends them both tumbling to the ground.

Luckily Stiles is a master of falling, although luck really has nothing to do with it, just practice oh my god so much practice. It helps that Derek doesn't land on him. Stiles braces his hands on Derek's shoulders and shifts around, the leaves dry and brittle, a twig sticking into his back. "Really? Was that necessary?"

"Yes." Derek's grin is...toothy. He reaches for Stiles' pants and has them unbuttoned and is tugging them down his hips when Stiles' brain catches up with the program.

"I see how it is," he says, a little light-headed because half the blood in his body has found a better place to be. "So when you said pack bonding, first full moon with a human, blah blah," he lifts his hips so Derek can slide his pants to his ankles, "what you were really saying was, Stiles I want to fuck you beneath the full moon like the sappy, romantic werewolf I am."

Stiles didn't think it was possible, but Derek's smile grows wider, and there's a flash of red in his eyes, teeth growing sharp. "Exactly."

There's nothing Stiles can say to that except, "My, what big teeth you have."

Derek chuckles and pulls a bottle of lube out of his pocket. Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'd make fun of you but it means you clearly put some thought into this, which I find incredibly hot." His boxers have followed his pants and his erection is a hot curve against his belly.

Cheeks flushed hot with arousal and embarrassment, he lets Derek coax him onto his hands and knees, aware that out there the pack is watching. Derek doesn't waste any time, presses a slick finger inside. Stiles sinks his fingers into the leaves and breathes. It's quiet, eerily so, just his and Derek's panting.

Derek manages to work two fingers into him when he pulls out and Stiles takes his lips between his teeth, realizes that it's going to be rough. He bows his spine, sucks in a breath at the first push of blunt heat, the slow stretch edging into pain, and it's so so good. 

From there it's a blur of heat and friction, the leaves crackling beneath his knees, night's chill stroking across sweat-slick skin. Derek's fingers pressing bruises into his hips, sharp kisses with a hint of fang scraping over Stiles' shoulders and neck. Stiles gives up on biting back his moans when he tastes blood in his mouth.

All it takes is a touch of Derek's hand on his dick to make him come, and as Stiles convulses he feels the bite of claws where Derek's hands grip his hips, hears the low, growling curse. Stiles moans in protest when Derek abruptly hauls him up and sinks human teeth into his shoulder. Still riding the edge of his orgasm it doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it should.

Through his lashes Stiles can see the shadowy forms of the rest of the pack watching.

* * *

**54.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Stiles loves sex with Derek. Like, _really_ loves it. Because Derek is good at sex, and he makes Stiles feel good, and Stiles likes to think it’s the same in reverse, because Derek always gets off (sometimes more than once, Stiles preens) before they’re done. So Stiles thinks he holds up his end well.

Not that he’s holding anything up. In fact, if you want to be semantic, he’s being _held down_.

“Holy mother of… fuck, Derek…”

Derek chuckles. It’s a rare sound, and Stiles probably cherishes these moments more than he should. Especially when he’s contorted like this, his upper body face down and his hips twisted, one leg above Derek’s shoulder, who’s straddling the other while fucking him deep.

“Don’t stop. God, fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Stiles pants. 

Derek bends low, bracing himself with an arm on either side of Stiles’s shoulders, and it pushes Stiles’s leg even further up, spreading him more, and now he’s just a moaning mess as the new angle lets Derek push deeper into him, and _god_ he think he’d die a happy man if he could just keep Derek’s cock in his ass forever because it should be illegal for something to feel so good.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Derek growls.

Stiles just laughs.

Derek collapses forward, and now Stiles is split wide open, one leg straight up and the other still trapped under Derek, and he thinks this may be making him flexible enough for Cirque du Soleil or some shit. He should look into career opportunities.

Derek’s hands curl around his shoulders, and he can feel Derek bracing his knees on the bed, and then…

“ _Oh my god…”_

Derek had been holding back, because his hips are really snapping forward now and Stiles can’t speak, and then he’s coming but Derek isn’t stopping and Stiles brain shorts out.

Then Derek stills, pushing in as far as he can go and Stiles feels him coming too. Derek runs hot, and he thinks it’s a werewolf thing but maybe it’s just a Derek thing, but his spunk is hot too, and Stiles is oversensitive. Stiles doesn’t care. He just grins, blissed out on the fullness in his ass.

They stay like that for a moment before Derek rolls to the side, helping Stiles lower his leg, both panting and sweaty

Stiles sighs when Derek finally pulls out. He feels empty, and the come leaking out of him is soaking into the sheets and making another wet spot. He sits up. This is usually the point where Derek dresses and leaves through the window, and Stiles doesn’t feel like sleeping on cold jizz tonight.

He starts when Derek pushes him back down and pads down the hall, returning with a warm cloth to clean them off. When he’s done, he tosses it to the floor, then hesitates.

It’s awkward, and finally Stiles speaks. “What? I don’t think I can go again. My ass is done.”

Derek snorts, then slowly lowers himself to the bed and lies down, curled up on his side.

“Can I stay?” 

It’s the first time Derek hasn’t left after sex. Stiles doesn’t mind – he’s never said he wants more – but this is something he craves. This vulnerability Derek sometimes exudes, which he’s only caught glimpses of before but is now there, just for him.

He turns onto his side, facing Derek, and pulls him close. Derek goes easily, letting Stiles lead. He doesn’t resist when Stiles pulls Derek’s face to his neck and curls his body around him, threading fingers through dark hair and tracing stubble. 

“Thank you,” Stiles hears him murmur, and then he feels Derek utterly relax into sleep. It’s a heady feeling, and Stiles can only hold him closer.

This is the first time Derek has that he’s ready to drop his walls and let someone in. And that’s okay, because Stiles long ago realized he might love Derek Hale, but he knows Derek is damaged, the type of damage that takes time to heal. 

He’s willing to go at Derek’s pace, so he wraps his arms around Derek and falls asleep with his nose pressed into Derek’s hair.

*****

Stiles isn’t surprised when he wakes up alone. But the sheets on his bed are tucked in around him, and he knows he fell asleep completely uncovered. He smiles contentedly and texts Derek.

_see you tonight?_

_Yeah._

_cool_

Stiles can’t stop grinning because damn it all, he thinks Derek might just like him too.

* * *

**55.**

**Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia

The first time Lydia realized that she could be the Alpha, she was fucking Jackson. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” Jackson hissed, used to being the one doing the owning, patriarchal bullshit that Lydia had played like a song until Allison swooped into her life like the proverbial winds of change.

“Sure sweetheart.” She said simply. His body made a liar out of him, the blood in his veins smelly sticky, rotten-sweet, like death and infection. Smelled like Derek. He still stank of Matt’s blood, a fake claim over the angel of death that was rightfully hers. 

Tomorrow they would find Matt’s body, throat slit, just another victim of the bizarre killings going on. 

“Lydia.” Jackson snarled at her, baring his blunt, human teeth at her in rebellion. 

She growled at him, letting some of the power she could feel simmering in her body into it. She had wasted so much time being afraid, battling the shade of Peter in her mind whispering _‘It can all be yours, my most beautiful creation. No one ever looked the way you do when you’re killing’_ Dancing to his dizzying tune and losing. 

Jackson quailed. She had always known that this was part of his personality, that when push came to shove he would buckle like a house of cards. It had been her job to fit herself into that part of him, to hold him together so he could excel, and she would be there ready to take him out at the knees if he disobeyed her. 

“Are you really going to fight with me now?” She asked, pressing her lips against his, forcing his head around. 

He’s delightfully naked and dazed when the scales receded, pliant for long moments and suggestible. They were curled in her bed, Jackson naked and pressed against her sweater (doesn’t seem to matter how many time he is re-born he just can’t get it right), slick with oily sweat and terrified of her. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t need to. You never understood even in the beginning when it was just you and me.” She nuzzled the short hairs behind his ear, pressing her face against skin that was all hers. Jackson’s breath hitched, coming out in a choked whine as she trailed her hand down his chest to splay out against his tummy, her breasts pressed against his back. 

“Relax.” She slurred, blood heating up, and fangs distending her mouth making it harder to speak. Jackson's heartbeat filled her head; loud and invigorating as a war-drum. She was half aware that she was losing control of the wolf and that it should scare her. 

“ _Ah._ ” The sound punched out of Jackson, shaking all over. Be mindful of the claws, wrapping one hand around his dick the other on the inside of his thigh. He was terrified of her but he was also so hard. 

Lydia licked over the scars that Derek left on his neck, worrying at them with her lips and tongue and just the barest hint of her teeth. 

“Yes.” Jackson grunted. 

“Hold still.” She admonished, his human hands gripping her sheets.

She didn’t hold back, knew was Jackson liked and used it against him ruthlessly. Hard and fast, jerking him off, smooth skin over the tick firmness, curling her fingers near the head until he was groaning freely, begging her, a slave to his own pleasure. 

Jackson came with a muted sound all over her hand, trembling against her chest while she kissed sloppy lines all over his shoulders, not even trying to keep her fangs to herself because the idea excited her. She was going to have him every way she wanted him because he was hers now. Stronger than lovers or family; pack. 

Lydia had been one step ahead since she decided to play the game, letting everyone run around trying not to let her know something was up. As if she was some kind of idiot. Waited for Matt where it was quiet and dark. She had expected to feel more, something beyond a sort of vindicated triumph when she clawed out his throat. 

The Kanima watched her, crouched low and rattling in its chest like a distressed child. “I’ve always got you Jackson.” She said, reaching a hand out to it, eyes glowing red in the moonlight. The Kanima reached back for her. 

_‘We’re going to burn the world down’_ Peter’s voice whispered from where she had banished it to the back of her mind.

* * *

**56.**

**Pairing:** Danny/Stiles

Danny twisted the water handle, relishing the quick shock of cold against his hard cock. He closed his eyes at the sting of pleasure. A loud clank followed by “shit that’s heavy” made him jerk up in surprise. He’d thought he was alone.

Stiles. Danny expected to hear Scott, but instead another loud clank and “dammit ow” made him grab his towel. He wrapped it hurriedly around his hips. Half erect he left the shower room, fully expecting to see Stiles flattened.

Close. Somehow Stiles had dropped the bar across his bare chest and was trying, and failing, to lift it.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Danny said, rubbing his still-wet hands on his towel. He lifted the bar back into place.

Stiles gasped for breath. His eyes widened as they skimmed over Danny’s body. “You’re wet.”

“Was in the shower. Ever bench pressed before?”

“Of course. Lots of times.”

Danny had never seen Stiles lift weights, not once. He’d never seen him flustered like this, either. Danny’s cock hardened. This could be interesting. Danny eyed him. “Really.”

“Okay no. I never have. I hate it.”

“I’ll teach you to love it. Lesson number one. What’s the first rule of bench pressing?”

Stile’s eyelids fluttered. “Um, I--“

“Never, ever, lift alone.” He checked the weights. “Couldn’t press two hundred?” Stiles’ face reddened. He tried to sit up. Danny pushed him down again.

“I, well... No?” His gaze brushed across Danny’s towel again, then a drop of water hit his face.

“Sorry.” Danny pulled his towel off, nonchalantly drying the rest of the way. Stiles’ shorts tented. “I’ll help you.”

“Sure.” Stiles paused. “Help me what?”

“Hands on the bar.” Stiles obeyed, eyes tightly closed. Danny spread them out. “Too close together. Push the bar up but don’t lock your elbows. There you go.” Danny bent down close to Stiles’ face. “Breathe out and bring it down to your chest. Open your eyes, Stiles.”

“You’re naked. That’s very distracting.”

Danny smacked his shoulder. Stiles’ eyes popped open. “Concentrate. Keep your eye on the bar. You want to stay in control.” He glanced at Stiles’ cock straining against his shorts. “Don’t think you’re in control, Stiles. Try harder.”

“I’m trying. You’re making it really difficult.”

“Let me help you then.” Moving to the other side of the bar Danny straddled Stiles’ body, placing his hands next to Stiles’ on the bar. He bent down. Stiles’ moaned. “Breathe in, replace the bar.” Stiles did so. Before he could remove his hands Danny said, “Don’t move.”

Stiles gulped. Danny’s cock dripped on his chest and he flinched. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Danny smoothed his hands down Stiles’ sides, letting his cock and balls rub against Stiles’ bare skin as he pulled down Stiles’ shorts. The tip of Stiles’ erect cock thumped against his belly. Oh, yes.

“Oh god, what are --“

“You wanted to know how it was done? Watch. And don’t move.”

Danny ran his tongue down Stiles’ quivering belly, lapping at the precome that had pooled there. He tapped the end of Stiles’ cock with his tongue.

Stiles canted his head back, pushing his hips up. “Oh fuck. Oh yes.”

That was all Danny needed to hear. He surrounded Stiles’ cock with his hot mouth and sucked hard, making Stiles’ screech. Ignoring him, other than to eye him once to keep his hands in place, Danny sucked harder, relentlessly running his tongue around the cock trapped in his mouth. His own cock ached for release but not yet, not yet. He was enjoying Stiles squirming too much.

Danny released Stiles’ cock with a thump, pulled one of his balls into his mouth and grabbed Stiles’ cock and began to pump it. His own need to be touched exploded.

With a growl he turned around, planting his cock and balls firmly in Stiles’ face. “Jerk me,” he demanded and Stiles did so, pumping him as Danny brought Stiles to the edge. He sucked on Stiles’ cock again, once, twice, and with a yell Stiles’ came, his come shooting hot into Danny’s mouth. He came a split-second later, shooting over Stiles’ stomach and groin. Danny collapsed on top of Stiles, both their bodies jerking with aftershocks.

“Fuck,” Stiles said hoarsely. “That was amazing.”

After a moment Danny pushed himself off of Stiles and grabbed the towel, wiping himself off. “End of lesson number one. Meet Thursday for another?”

Stiles gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I like weight lifting after all.”

* * *

**57.**

**Warnings:** Underage  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“You’ve never watched Supernatural!? What kind of werewolf are you!” Stiles gasped eyes wide in horrified disbelief and Derek rolled his eyes at the teenager’s dramatized reaction.

“It wasn’t a priority and from what I hear it’s not that good anyway.”

“Not good! Not GOOD! Derek!” Stiles wailed out and reached out to drag the Alpha up into his room, they had been talking about the pack and what they were going to do at the next pack meeting but somehow the conversation had drifted, more then likely thanks to Stiles. They had been discussing favorite television series and while Stiles had dozens that he liked to watch Derek didn’t really watch that much television and he hadn’t kept up with the latest series to hit the air.

“We’re going to have to marathon the entire first 5 seasons then.” Stiles said and Derek only half listened, his attention on something else. His hand felt warm in Stiles’s grasp and Derek couldn’t help squeezing gently at the softness. They were already in the bedroom and Stiles was digging with one hand around in a pile of movies, no doubt looking for the before mentioned box-sets.

“Actually I have something better in mind.” Derek said and when Stiles turned to look at him in puzzlement Derek crowded him in closer and leaned down to nip softly at the soft lips that were always parted slightly. Even when Stiles wasn’t talking his mouth always hanged open, like he was just begging to be ravished every time Derek laid eyes on him.

“Oh.” Stiles moaned and then smiled wickedly. “Well in that case.” He dropped down on his knees and looked up into Derek’s wide eyes. “I have a sudden craving, will you allow me to indulge?”

Derek did not whimper but it was a close call. “Stiles…please.”

Stiles smirked and reached out to unbutton Derek’s pants, “Oh Alpha my Alpha you know I can’t resist it when you ask so nicely.” Stiles reached into the open pants and pulled out Derek’s cock gently. It was already flushed red and pre-cum was leaking out the tip. It amazed Derek how much he could go from zero to one hundred every time when Stiles and him did this.

Stiles leaned forward and swiped his tongue along the crown, gathering up the pearly white mess with lustful glee.

Derek moaned as Stiles began to take in more of his cock in his mouth, his tongue working hard on the foreskin, making him leak even more into Stiles’s mouth.

Stiles pulled off a bit and ran his tongue and lips along Derek’s cock until he could suck on his balls, they hung swollen and heavy and Derek’s hands dug into Stiles’s hair when he felt Stiles begin to nibble tenderly on them.

“Fuck Stiles.” Derek groaned, “You fucking cock sucker, yeeesssss. God, your mouth- fuck your mouth.”

Stiles pulled off entirely, but before Derek could growl in protest Stiles spoke.

“Do that. Fuck my mouth. Gag me with your cock. Derek!” Stiles demanded, his voice already sounded wreck and his face was flushed red, his eyes were glazed and Derek didn’t have to see to know that his own cock was full and hard in Stiles’s pants. The teen would probably come in his pants soon without having to be touched. Derek loved it when that happened, it was cute and while Stiles may be embarrassed Derek would make it up to him, his mind already thinking about rimming Stiles’s pink asshole until he had the boy sobbing for Derek to fuck him.

“Yes.” Derek hissed out between clenched teeth and readjusted his hands in Stiles hair, getting a better grip as he directed his cock back into Stiles hot mouth.

He started out gently enough, pushing his cock until it hit the back of Stiles throat and leaving it for a few seconds before pulling back, but they were both impatient and soon enough Stiles was choking and gagging while saliva stained with cum dripped heavily down his chin. But he never tried to stop Derek, in fact he encouraged the harsh treatment, his hands were tugging on Derek’s balls and trying to draw him even deeper inside his mouth, even though that was impossible.

Derek didn’t last much longer and with a groan he spilled down Stiles’s throat, he felt Stiles’s coming a second later.

Later, Stiles would make Derek sit through all of the seasons of Supernatural for the first time, but not the last.

* * *

**58.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"Took you long enough."

"I had to see my dad and Scott, dude."

"Still."

Derek is leaning against the doorway when Stiles gets to his loft. He's trying to look composed and casual, to not let Stiles see how anxious he is, how much he's missed him, but it's a lost cause. His jaw is clenched tight, and blunt, human nails dig into his biceps as he forces himself to not grab Stiles, hold him too tight, never let go again.

"Hi."

Stiles smiles. "Hi."

When Stiles comes close enough to reach, Derek pulls him in. Under the scents of strange new people and places, the scent of _mate_ pours into his nostrils as he sucks in deep breaths right at Stiles' neck. He feels two months' worth of increasing tension drain out of him.

"You eat?" he mumbles into Stiles' neck.

Stiles nods.

"Can you…?" He struggles with wording his request. "I just… Come here." Stiles' fingers slot with his as he leads Stiles through his loft and back to the bedroom. He can hear the change in Stiles' heart rate when he sees it.

Every blanket Derek owns is piled on top of his bed. A pair of black running shorts peeks out from amidst the pile and the sleeve of a faded red hoodie is dangling to the floor.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. Derek feels the blush rising on his face, but he can't truly be embarrassed about this. He should have thought of it before Stiles left for college and refuses to miss a second opportunity. He rubs his hand over the base of his neck and tries to put his need into words.

"Nothing smells like you anymore. Nothing smells like us…"

"So you thought the best way to remedy that was to sleep on everything you own and, hey, is that my lacrosse jersey?"

"You left it here. I…"

Derek could explain more, probably should, but Stiles is _here, now, finally,_ and his scent is overpowering rational thought in Derek's brain.

He pulls Stiles against him in the next moment, pressing their lips together, opening his mouth to taste his mate, and backing Stiles to the bed as he does it. They pull off each other's clothing in swift moves not easily forgotten. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, legs around his waist, when they make it onto the heap of blankets and clothing on the bed.

Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles' body, touching every bit of skin he's missed. Their mouths only part for breathing and tasting sweating skin.

He needs to be inside Stiles. Nothing else matters. He lubes up his fingers and presses in, stretching. Stiles squirms, threads his fingers through Derek's hair, pulls him in tighter. When he finally, finally, gets his cock in, he stops. Holds.

It's been eight weeks since Derek's had this, had Stiles pressed against him and around him. He knows Stiles needed to go to college, but he misses this so much. Misses the warmth of Stiles' body against his own, Stiles' scent and presence over everything he owns, the constant motion in his otherwise still world.

"Oh my god, you have to move," Stiles begs. "Please move."

Derek moves in minute thrusts. He can't bear any distance between them right now, so he presses his hips in tighter against Stiles' ass and buries his face in Stiles' neck. His wolf revels in the smell and feel of Stiles everywhere.

"Gonna fill you up. Make you smell like me." Stiles whimpers. "They have to know you're mine."

"Yes," Stiles groans. "Do it."

Derek rocks his hips a few times more, stamina shot by the overwhelming presence of _Stiles,_ and his orgasm rips through him like a tidal wave. He comes with a hoarse shout, pouring himself into Stiles' body.

Somehow Derek manages to roll them over without pulling out. He's trembling, shocky, and he can't take his eyes off Stiles. Stiles, who hasn't come yet, didn't get the chance to. Stiles, who is, _fuck,_ jacking himself off.

Stiles folds himself over to whisper in Derek's ear, "I'm gonna come on you. Make _you_ smell like _me_. Let them know _you're mine._ " Seconds later, he comes across Derek's chest before collapsing on top of him.

Later, Stiles says, "I know what you mean about the smell thing," and fishes a plain black T-shirt out of his duffle. "I was kinda hoping that while we weren't doing that, you could wear this."

* * *

**59.**

**Warnings:** Strong language  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

The first time Derek meets Stiles, he considers eating him.

He's skulking around his burnt-out husk of a home when suddenly he's _there_ in Derek's kitchen, saying, "Well, this looks healthy.” He sniffs at the sink, scrunches up his nose.

Derek's eyes flash red and he's all fangs and claws as he snarls, "Get out."

Stiles's gaze sashays over to him, entirely unimpressed. "Can't do it, bud. I'm your wish-fulfilling indentured servant. Stiles, for short."

"What?"

"Some people call them fairy godfathers. I prefer ‘Magic Bitch.’ The former makes it sound like I get some kind of choice out of the whole dealie."

Derek decides he's done dealing with this and stomps off, growling, "Fuck off," over his shoulder.

Stiles doesn't fuck off. In fact, he only gets more persistent. He's _there_ every morning when Derek comes down the stairs, sitting in his armchair and reading _Teen Beat_.

"Get out," Derek says, his daily morning greeting.

"You need linens," Stiles says, his daily morning greeting – finding something to nitpick. "You're sleeping on a mattress, a lumpy, _soggy_ , bug-infested mattress."

"And sheets'll fix that?"

"It's a start."

He yaps at Derek about going into town because ‘being a lone wolf is the worst cliché the world has to offer and just because his insides are hollowed out and burned doesn't mean he can't fake it for an hour.’ Derek ignores him.

He wakes up to find honey-colored eyes blinking at him and he's so fucking _done_ with being told what to do and how he should live. He pins Stiles to the bed and growls in his face. Stiles's eyes seem to alight at the challenge. "You gonna fight me or fuck me there, big guy?" And Derek realizes he's hard.

Stiles pushes his hips into him and Derek snarls. He pushes up Stiles’s shirt, tangles the hem of it in his claws. Stiles is pale, gorgeous and gasping. Derek pulls down his trousers and fucks his face on Stiles's cock like he's angry at the world. He plays with Stiles's balls in his palm while he sucks him off violently, inhaling the musky scent of him.

Stiles shoots down his throat and grabs at Derek's dick with sure, confident hands.

He and Stiles fuck almost every day after but it doesn't stop Stiles from pestering him about being a misanthropic hermit. He screams at him one afternoon that living like a ghost won't erase all the others in his life.

Derek grabs him by the arms, slams him into the wall. " _I should have died, don't you get that_? The fire was my fucking fault!"

Stiles is quiet for a long moment. "If you really believe that, if you think _this_ is what your family would want for you, then you _are_ pathetic." And he does that thing where he's just _gone_.

Derek doesn't care. He goes off to bed and tries not to think. Stiles isn't there when he comes downstairs the next morning. He doesn't show up that night either. Derek prowls every inch of his house, destroying things in his wake as he imagines the fury he's going to unleash on Stiles when he returns. _If_ he returns. And after a week it's becoming pretty clear that's a big if.

He'd been fine on his own, _happy_ being alone, and then Stiles had come along.

Derek gets it in his head that Stiles will come back if he does all the things he's been bugging him about. He goes grocery shopping and doesn't growl at the woman who snatches the last cucumber out from under his hand, to the library and suppresses a grin thinking about Stiles trying to be _quiet_ , to the movies and he doesn't panic when it's crowded and he sits next to strangers. He gets linens and he talks to a contractor and it makes his heart hurt to think of tearing it all down but there's relief there too.

He goes into a coffee shop and a boy in plaid slides into the seat across from him with an unstoppable grin. Derek's breath catches. He has a hard time looking into that smiling face. He stares down at the table with hooded eyes. "You left," he accuses.

Stiles hums, takes a sip of Derek's coffee. "It was the kick in the ass you needed though."

Stiles shifts. Derek's hands shoots out across the table and grabs onto his wrist. "Don't. Leave," he grits out.

Stiles beams at him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**60.**

**Warnings:** dub-con, curse variety  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Taylor Swift Is Our Spirit Animal**

_"This is the last time I'm asking you this, put my name at the top of your list…"_

The first time Stiles saw Allison after the thing wit¬h Gerard, he caught her singing along to Taylor Swift in the In & Out parking lot, her face wet with tears as her voice broke. It was funny, when he saw the car from behind and heard the music leaking out into the night. It wasn't funny when he saw her face. 

It was only _slightly_ funny that he got a Taylor Swift addiction from it. _Red, red, red_ stuttered off his tongue as he pulled up at a light and casually glanced to his left. The tinted window of the SUV next to him rolled down, and he was greeted to a raised brow from Derek. What the hell was he doing in an SUV? Stiles floored the gas and left Derek in the dust, his face burning. 

Stiles was thankful for the SUV the next week as he gasped for air in the backseat, limbs flailing and punching Scott in the face. Scott just gritted his teeth and sat on Stiles's knees, pinning him to the seat.

"Just hang on!" Isaac said encouragingly from the passenger seat. "Almost there!"

"Mwarffglumg!" Stiles yelled back. This was the problem of hanging out with lovesick werewolves who didn't pay attention to witch warnings. Stiles's first curse, and of course he got hit with one that made him hornier than a toad. His skin was on fire and Scott was not helping with the sitting and the possessing skin.

"Bleeeeeaurgh!" Stiles howled, just to drive his point home.

Derek screeched to a halt in front of the clinic and Isaac leapt out the window, only to run immediately back.

"Deaton's not here!" 

"Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Stiles bellowed. As a last word, it left something to be desired.

"Scott, Isaac, get the hell out of here," Derek commanded, yanking open the back door and practically throwing Scott out.

"But Stiles—" Scott protested.

"I'll take care of it," Derek said grimly and stuck his hand down Stiles's pants with absolutely no regard for dignity. Not that Stiles was planning to protest. He was too busy moaning.

"Oh my God, that sound!"

"Then turn on the radio and get the hell out of here!" Derek yelled.

It was Taylor Swift. Stiles didn't have a damn clue which song. He was distracted by the feel of Derek's hand on his dick, skipping right over that reluctant ally line and into unchartered territory. It felt amazing. He was pretty sure only about ten percent of that was the easing of the curse; the rest was all Derek. He had shockingly soft hands and a really strong grip. Stiles whimpered.

Derek frowned, released him, and ran his tongue over his own hand. When he gripped Stiles again, everything was that much smoother.

"Gnnnarwwww," Stiles breathed, which Derek interpreted as "Take my pants off" and pushed Stiles’s pants and underwear down to his knees, leaning over him close enough for Stiles to reach up and grab. So he did, hanging on, sweaty fingers sliding around Derek's jacket before tangling in Derek's hair for the duration. Not long, as Derek ran his thumb along the thick vein in Stiles's dick, just the barest scrape of nail. Up and down, tight and wet, soft and strong, nothing fancy, but Stiles was bucking up off the backseat, held in place by Derek caging him in.

He blacked out when he came, waking up to Taylor singing about trouble and Derek looking down his body at Stiles's spent dick. He was probably disgusted.

"Ugh, I owe you, what, six hundred favors now?" Stiles mumbled.

Derek licked his lips, his eyes drifting from Stiles's face to his dick. Stiles got the feeling both movements were involuntary. He pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Seriously?" he asked and Derek started to pull away. "Whoa, no! All yours, with my compliments."

Derek looked at him. Stiles looked back. This was way past curse-lifting favors. What the hell, Stiles thought, and surged up to give Derek a messy and off-center kiss. When he dropped back to the seat, Derek was as close to smiling as Stiles had ever seen him. Huh.

"Want me to change the music?" Stiles asked, looking to the dashboard.

"Nah," Derek said. "I like it."

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click each image to enlarge.

**61.**

**Warnings:** Crossdressing  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia  
 **Tagline:** The first time Lydia managed to convince Jackson to cross-dress he was surprised by his reaction to the experience. The fact that he liked it. Liked it enough for it not to be the last time.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/IfPx8K5.jpg)

* * *

**62.**

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**The First Time Stiles Embraced His Scottish Roots**

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/LMhhFSy.jpg)

* * *

**63.**

**Warnings:** Nudity, Masturbation  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Allison

**The first time Scott and Allison have webcam sex while she's away at college.**

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/AHt91nW.png)

* * *

**64.**

**Pairing** : Derek/Stiles

**The first time Derek notices Stiles' hands**

Oral fixation was putting it mildly. Anyone who had seen Stiles destroy a plastic straw knew better than to let innocent objects anywhere near that mouth of his. But there's no food or drink in sight, just a scattered stack of print outs from his research. Stiles is thumbing through the pile in search of something when he casually raises a finger to his mouth...

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/au1Z3EG.jpg)

* * *

**65.**

**Warnings:** Underage (both parties)  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Allison

Scott was nervous he wouldn't like it the first time Allison suggested "new" for them. He shouldn't have been.

[ ](http://imgur.com/VNRmQZa)

* * *


	5. Group A (no warnings)

**1.**

Stiles always thought the bathrooms in Jungle were pretty much like other club bathrooms. 

It was the only place he’d tried out his fake ID (didn’t work on _any_ of the bartenders) so he didn’t have much to compare it against but he didn’t really want to, either. He felt safe at Jungle.

Which was weird, considering the weird shit that went down in Beacon Hills and in this club and, well, maybe it was his life.

The only weird shit happening on this particular Friday night, however, was the unbearable need to piss that Stiles was having. His virgin rum and cokes were racing through him so when he finally made a break for the bathrooms he didn’t take much notice of why the urinals were all taken instead of the stalls.

He slammed into one, barely getting the door locked and his pants down in time before he tilted his head back and groaned in sweet relief.

When finished he zipped up, ready to leave, but he heard a moan in the stall to his left, not unlike the one he’d just released. This one was followed by an answering stutter of heavy breathing and then rhythmic thumps. Stiles cautiously leaned forward, as if to press his ear against the wall. 

In his head he could see that scene in _Scream 2_ on loop and he ducked back at the last second. He had the internet, after all. He turned around to leave but as he faced the opposite wall he saw a finger hanging through a hole in the wall. 

“Uh,” Stiles uttered smartly.

The finger beckoned him closer but Stiles was pretty sure this was a scene from a horror movie, too.

“I wanna suck you,” a voice rasped through the hole.

Stiles considered his options.

Horror movie scenario in which he either gets a) stabbed, b) his dick cut off, c) otherwise maimed or murdered by an unknown force, aka: any day of the week while hanging out with the werewolves.

Or he could get his dick sucked.

Stiles unzipped his pants slowly, feeling his cock twitch at the thought. He jacked himself a couple times, then stepped up to the wall, feeling nervous.

As soon as the head of his cock passed through the hole in the wall it was like entering hot, wet heaven. Stiles tried to stifle his moan but his partner hummed appreciatively around him so Stiles couldn’t hide his reactions.

Jerking off quickly under the covers of his own bed was trumped by the introduction of internet porn was trumped by lube was trumped by the danger of jerking off in semi-public places was _totally_ trumped by getting his dick sucked in the Jungle bathroom.

His partner seemed to have done this before because he was licking and rolling his tongue over the head of Stiles’ cock like a goddamn pro.

Stiles wrapped his hands over the top of the stall wall, trying to move impossibly closer. His hips jerked somewhat, eager to thrust at will into the welcoming mouth.

He could feel drool rolling down his cock, towards his poor, ignored balls and he imagined his partner’s face wet and slick with it and his precum that was leaking steadily.

Stiles felt himself tighten at the thought and he cursed the world for being a sixteen year-old and having the stamina of one.

“Dude, gonna come,” he grunted but his partner didn’t stop, just sucked harder and faster.

Stiles groaned, felt his balls draw up and he sailed over the edge---

Screams.

Of course.

Stiles was suddenly coming into nothingness, his partner gone in a flash.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered. He pulled himself together, tucked his sensitive cock away and rushed toward the commotion out on the dance floor.

As he ran towards the noise he was jerked backwards.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Derek demanded--who else?

“Hanging out?” Stiles offered lamely. Derek frowned and nodded towards the exit.

“Leave, now.”

“But-”

“ _Now_.” Derek pushed him away and tried to enter the melee in the middle of the room but not before Stiles noticed a few thick, white drops on the front of Derek’s leather jacket.

_Huh._

* * *

**2.**

She had just finished swimming laps and was climbing out of the pool when he first saw her. She emerged from the water like one of Odysseus’ sirens and he watched, transfixed, as water sluiced down her flawless ivory skin and drops from her golden hair got caught in the crevice where her tiny bikini pushed her breasts together. He felt his pulse quicken and his mouth dry. He tightened the white towel around his waist to try and hide his erection. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life.

Every eye was on her but to his shock and delight, her eyes were on him. 

They kept their relationship a secret because he had just turned sixteen and she was twenty-four. Even two weeks later he could still hardly believe his luck that she was interested in him. He knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes and that all the girls in his class noticed him, but those were _high school_ girls. Kate was so much more, so much _better_. 

Everything about her overwhelmed him and he imagined it was akin to being caught in a riptide. Her lips stole his breath and the way she touched him -- confident, demanding, wild, uninhibited -- made him feel like he was lost in her ocean. He nuzzled her neck and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t good at identifying scents yet, but he liked the way something in her scent tickled his nose and stung the back of his throat; it was fitting, like the physical manifestation of the excitement and danger of her aura.

Her lips grazed the shell of his ear and her hot breath made him shiver. “You’re ready for this, aren’t you, sweetie?” She slipped her hand into his pants and tightened it around his erection. “Of course you are. You’re such a _good_ boy.” She kissed away any chance to object - though objection couldn’t have been farther from his mind. He knew that if he objected, she’d see him for the sixteen year old virgin he was and move on to someone more deserving of her attentions.

She twisted her wrist to get a better angle to jerk him off and he couldn’t stop the buck of his hips into her waiting palm. He knew he should be reciprocating, but the only thing he could manage in that instant was not coming all over her hand. 

“God, you’re an animal, aren’t you?” Her words barely registered before his eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) to look at her. Adrenaline pumped through him and his heart pounded. Had he shifted? Had his eyes flashed? Did she know his secret? As though sensing his alarm, she chuckled, her voice low and amused. “Look at you -- so needy. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” 

Fear mixed with arousal and alit his body. He came, hot and unstoppable, and bite down on his tongue to trap the howl he could feel building in his chest. In that moment he was infinite and ready to take on the world, all thanks to the beautiful woman at his side.

He reached down to the front of her jeans to undo the button when her hand stopped him. “Don’t worry about me right now, cutie. You can take care of me during round two.” 

She moved to kiss him, deep and messy, and once again he could’t believe his luck; she was everything he could have hoped for. He probably could have gone again right then, but he knew even sixteen year old boys needed a few minutes more than a werewolf. “What now?” he asked, threading his fingers through her hair. 

“Why don’t you tell me more about your family. They’re important to you, aren’t they?” 

“They’re everything! When do you think you’ll want to meet them? I’m sure they won’t care about the age difference when they know how much I love--” He choked off, alarmed. He hadn’t meant to tell Kate that he loved her yet. He knew it was too soon for most humans. They’d only been together for a couple weeks, but he had a feeling that she was it for him.

“Awww, you’re adorable. I’ll make sure that you don’t have to wait too long. Don’t sweat it, sweetie, I’m sure we’ll get along like a house on fire.” She walked her fingers up his chest and gave him an undecipherable look. “Tell me about them in the meantime, help me prepare...” 

And he did.

* * *

**3.**

It's not like it's consolation or anything, but on the day Stiles dies, he wakes up to one hell of a blowjob. 

No matter how many times he complains about all the pointy teeth snuggling up to his dick, none of it stops Derek from rubbing his canines against Stiles as he tries to swallow him whole. 

"Oh my god, Derek--your fucking teeth, man." 

And obviously, it doesn't really stop Stiles from enjoying it. He lives an exciting, wild life, yo. No one can tame him.

"Holy fuck. Hell yeah," he curses and then accidentally pulls too hard on Derek's hair so he can feel the soft, unyielding pressure of teen on the underside of his dick. 

It gets him a growl, a cheeky finger in his asshole and a mind-blowing, embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

When Stiles holds his hand out for a fist-bump, he gets pawed aside but he can totally see Derek's smile peaking out at the corners of his perma-scowl.

"Come here grump," Stiles says, pulling Derek in as he lazily watches Derek jerk off to completion all over him. It's not like he doesn't love watching Derek's dick but the way his dark, thick eyelashes fucking _flutter_ when he's coming is the best thing ever. Afterwards, Derek rubs his jizz all over Stiles's stomach, totally nonchalant to the cliché territorial weirdness Derek represents but Stiles let's it go. Mostly because there is naked making out and Derek's eyelashes are still distractingly pretty. 

Not that he tells Derek that. 

Too bad the rest of his day sort of goes down hill and in the end, he sort of wishes he did take the time to embarrass himself out loud by professing how beautiful Derek's eyeslashes were when he had the chance. 

One minute, they're winning and the next minute, well, Stiles is definitely only winning if they're all competing for who has the least blood on the _inside_ of their body. 

"Oh," he says, dropping to his knees before his head swims and he blacks out. When he opens his eyes, it's blurry and everything hurts but it's this dull, all encompassing pain and Stiles can't _think_. Everything feels distant. 

His breath feels wet and yeah, that's probably because there's blood in his lungs or something. He just gasps, trying to take a breath, but it feels like he's drowning—the water too thick. Somewhere to his left, he can hear Scott but he's not screaming or panicking, which is maybe worse because perhaps that means they've already lost. 

He doesn't think about dying, like, it doesn't _click_. 

One minute, he feels like his chest is on fire but then there's nothing. Logically, it's probably shock—that last ditch attempt by his body to feel so much that he feels nothing at all and man, if that isn't a metaphor for his whole fucking life. 

The next breath he takes gurgles.

When Derek's face looms over Stiles', he's stuck by deja vu. Thankfully, he's not thinking about blowjobs though because even though he's nineteen, that's an embarrassing last thought to have—regardless of how nice Derek's mouth is or like, how much Stiles loves dicks. Nah, it's those pretty eyelashes again.

This time, when he focuses on the soft, maybe panicked flutter of Derek's eyelashes, he's reminded of his mother. That last time, she was still smiling, you know? Despite everything, she could still smile and Stiles remembers being so angry, tangled up in the unimaginable thought of losing her. Randomly, now, he also remembers that she had lost her eyelashes by then. 

Her eyes had been so clear. Stiles had been so desperate to keep her that he barely understood but looking back, particularly now with time slowed down and what feels like an elephant sitting on his chest, he realizes how beautiful she was then. 

He thinks about how Derek is the beautiful one now, watching his unblinking red eyes, framed by thick, sooted eyelashes.

He doesn't think the last flash of canines will be enough. But that's okay. It's wet still, his lips and maybe his chin, but he tries to wipe his face and forces his mouth into something like a smile. He wants everyone, but especially Derek, to remember him smiling. 

All in all, it's not the worst last day to have.

* * *

**4.**

“Are you okay?!” Stiles shouts as he rushes over to Derek. “Oh my god, that was too close. I can’t believe that almost happened. Fucking shit. Just, fuck!” Stiles continues to ramble on as he runs his hands over Derek’s chest, checking for injuries.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is calm, but laced with something he doesn’t recognize.

“What if that Alpha had hurt you? If I would have been a second later with that spell--” Stiles feels a panic attack coming on. His chest is tight, his lungs refuse to expand and the world begins to close on him.

“Stiles.” Derek says again, commanding his attention.

His eyes snap to meet Derek’s and all thoughts fly out the window. He’d expected Derek to look murderous, intent on killing the Alpha that Stiles had already disposed of. Instead, his gaze is full of a barely controlled hunger; as if he’s about to eat Stiles whole.

Stiles entire body shakes at the idea.

“You’re powerful.” Derek states.

Stiles gaze drifts over to the Alpha crumpled a few feet away from him and- yeah, he’s kind of powerful. This is the first time he’s saved anyone’s life with magic. The first time it’s felt like a gift rather than a burden. “I guess so,” he replies evenly.

A low growl emanates from Derek and Stiles turns his attention to him. He inhales sharply and realizes what’s going to happen two seconds before Derek crashes their mouths together.

It’s all hands and teeth and Stiles has no idea what the fuck he’s doing because it’s Derek. Fucking _finally_.

He’d imagined this alone in his bed, more than a few times, but nothing compares to the reality of Derek’s tongue, hot and wet licking into his mouth, curling slowly to slide along his teeth.

Stiles moans and pulls at the hem of Derek’s shirt until he gets his hands under the material and onto Derek’s skin, trying to steady himself against the waves of lust, need, want that keep crashing over him.

Two strong hands slide down his sides and wrap around to squeeze his ass. He gasps into Derek’s mouth and bucks his hips forward, brushing their cocks together. His brain short circuits for a second.

_More_. He needs more.

In a flurry of movement (and absolutely no flailing on Stiles part) they manage to get each other’s clothes off. He’s seen Derek shirtless before, but it’s different now he’s allowed to touch. The moonlight peaks through the forest top and casts a soft glow over him.

“How are you even real?” Stiles asks in bewilderment.

Red glints in Derek’s eyes as he closes the distances between their naked bodies. “Get on your hands and knees,” he commands, very nearly in Alpha voice.

Somewhere Stiles dignity resists the idea, but his body has other plans, shivering in pure lust as he sinks to his knees. In this position he can’t help lean forward and lick up Derek’s cock. He swirls the taste around in his mouth as he turns to the side and puts his hands on the ground. Stiles is fully aware he’s presenting himself for an Alpha werewolf, but somewhere in the past few years this became insanely arousing, rather than insanely terrifying.

Derek wastes no time, wetting his fingers and pressing them to Stiles hole. The pressure makes his stomach clench.

“I can--let me--“ Stiles mutters a spell and feels a familiar wetness between his thighs. (It’s far easier to use magical lube than have his dad find the stuff in his room. He’s already had enough awkward conversations to last a lifetime.)

Behind him, Derek growls in approval, replacing fingers with cock and pushing in firmly, but carefully. Once fully seated they both release the breath they’d been holding.

“Move.” Stiles whimpers.

The first drag of Derek’s cock out and in his body is like the purest form of heroine. He’s never going to get enough. Dirt burrows its way under Stiles fingernails as he tries to find purchase on the slippery forest floor.

“Fuck, right there.” Stiles moans.

Mud cakes his bare skin and the quiet forest fills with sounds of their pleasure as Derek thrusts into him without mercy. It doesn’t take long until Stiles’ balls pull up tight and he’s painting his stomach and chest with come. 

A few more strokes and he feels Derek still behind him, pushing in deep and gripping onto Stiles hips as he empties himself deep inside his hole. 

_Finally_.

* * *

**5.**

Chris wasn't one for motels, not with Victoria pregnant and the woods swarming with glowing eyes. Not otherwise either, to be quite honest. Between the room with questionable odor and stains and the guy at the front desk rubbing one out over porn magazines, he'd have just done the last two hundred miles with his eyes closed if it hadn't been for Victoria pointing to the motel and telling him to stop. So he had to content with a chair under the doorknob like he was twelve and wanted to jack off in peace without his sister barging in.

The mattress looked infested, the mirror in the bathroom was broken and when he took a piss the flies in the toilet bowl snacked on his ablutions. 

"We've stayed in better," he said, leaning against the doorjamb as he did up his belt. 

"True." Victoria turned from the window, and Chris fought the hard-trained instincts of covering easy access and open spaces and protect her from the night and all the filth it brought that wanted to burrow into their room. 

"I'll keep her safe," he'd vowed on her father's doorstep when he'd whisked her away halfway across the country. She'd rolled her eyes and told him to keep it in his pants. 

She undid his belt when he was within an arm's reach, undid the button on his jeans and shoved them down to mid-thigh. Not so much keeping it in now as she jerked his cock through his boxers, kissed him, got him dribbling wet into the fabric. 

"It's safe through here," she said. "A hundred miles further south it wouldn't be the best idea." 

It didn't feel like a good idea here either until she sat on the bed and he stood between her legs, until she had his boxers down and her lips on his cock. Then though, then it seemed like there couldn’t have been a better one.

She'd not sucked him at first, told him he'd get a shot at her pussy to put a baby there and that was that. He'd begged. Some. 

"You told your dad you'd call when we stopped," he said, fingers playing through her hair as he nudged his cock just a bit deeper into her mouth before she stopped him with nails on his hips. 

She glanced up at him, pulled off and brushed the back of her hand over her mouth. As she cleaned the corners of her lips she was the fifteen year old he'd first seen in Sunday school again. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said. The wind rattled the window and they both looked across, him reaching for a gun in the belt he didn't have, his cock hard and playing at weapon instead. "He wouldn't be pleased," she added as she lay back and pulled her clothes off until she was halfway up the infested mattress in bra and panties. 

Chris saw himself dismembered and bled out in her father's Ohio ranch backyard for daring to bring the guy's daughter here, then she nudged her panties aside and whatever might be howling at the moon out there could wait. 

"It's just us now," she said later, sliding onto his cock, his hands on her round stomach and her heavy tits, her hands on his chest, looking down at him as she rode him like they were still trying to get a baby into her. "Daddy doesn't need to know," she said. He didn't know about her sucking Chris's dick or about little Victoria taking it up the ass either, but he slid in so nice when she was on all fours, their baby hanging down below her. 

The mattress creaked with every thrust, the bed frame banging into the wall in time with branches knocking on the roof. He didn't even know if they'd manage to clean up or if even the water would come out dirty, but she'd said stop when they passed the motel, so he'd stopped. He knew better than to argue with her, knew to smile gamely when she teased about giving him a whole range of new experiences. 

He came before she did, pushing his come deep into her ass. She turned over and pulled his face between her legs, got his lips on her pussy, and he stayed there for most of the rest of the night while she told him stories about big bad wolves and the men who killed them.

* * *

**6.**

**And All Through the Night We'll Be Warm**

It’s not just that it’s Jackson’s first time camping and he’s clueless about _everything_.

It’s not even that he managed to break the poles for his tent and now Stiles is stuck sharing.

Stiles can even put up with the fact that Jackson plans to sleep mostly nude (okay, so maybe that part isn’t so bad; Jackson may be an asshole but he’s nice to look at).

But sharing a sleeping bag?

“No way.” Stiles sweeps one hand in a cutting motion. “I don’t care if you forgot your sleeping bag, or if it was eaten by a mountain lion, or even if you donated it to orphans. You are _not_ sharing my sleeping bag.”

“If you leave me out in the cold, I will make your life a living hell, Stilinski. Now unzip.” Jackson points to the sleeping bag. Just to be obnoxious, Stiles takes his time unzipping his jeans instead.

The tent is tiny, and by the time he’s ready for bed (loose sleep pants and boxers, unlike Jackson who is wearing _only_ boxers) he’s just about ready to scream with frustration. Being this close to Scott? Fine. Being this close to _Jackson_? Not on Stiles’s top ten list of things he wants to be doing before he dies.

After they manage to wriggle into the too-tight sleeping bag together, Stiles is sure of two things: they are not going to have to worry about freezing to death because Jackson is a werewolf heater, and Stiles is going to have blue balls by morning. If he can even sleep at all like this, with Jackson pressed up against his entire backside.

“Stay still,” Jackson orders curtly, hand curled over Stiles’s hip. If he goes much further, he’s going to find out exactly _why_ Stiles can’t seem to stop moving and can’t get comfortable. “Stilinski!” His fingers curl in tight, gripping him hard and yanking him back.

Stiles moans before he catches himself.

He feels the smile against the back of his neck. “Problem?” Jackson murmurs, voice shifting from angry to silky soft. “Are you actually _enjoying_ this situation?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not because of you.” Even though it _is._ Stiles can feel how they are pressed together, and is it his fault if his imagination is _very_ vivid? He wiggles against Jackson, because damn it, if he’s going to be uncomfortable, he is _not_ going to be alone.

Those fingers tighten on his hip again, digging in to the point where Stiles is almost certain they might be claws. And the _moan_ , oh fuck, Jackson is trying to hide it, but the sound comes with a mouth against his neck and Stiles _feels_ the sound slip out.

He also feels the hard dick pressed against him, barely separated by thin layers of fabric. He shifts again, because the idea that _he_ did this to _Jackson_ is just too good to be believed. He whimpers; Jackson covers Stiles’s mouth with his hand.

“Not a sound,” Jackson hisses. Stiles would think it’s a problem except Jackson’s other hand is now _inside_ his sleep pants, wrapped around Stiles’s dick, stroking. Somehow being gagged by his hand just makes it _more_ hot, and Stiles wriggles back against him.

He closes his eyes. Jackson’s hips roll, pressing tight and releasing, frotting against him. Stiles can’t stop moving, sensation taking over as he thrusts in shallow strokes into Jackson’s hand, shifting between the pressure of his fingers on his dick and the cock pressed against the crack of his ass. 

It’s like a fucking wet dream except that it’s happening _right now_ in his sleeping bag in his tent with their friends scattered around the camp site in their own tents. Jackson bites against Stiles’s shoulder, muffling his own groan. They could be caught at any moment. With that thought, Stiles’s orgasm overtakes him as his body stiffens and he spurts all over Jackson’s hand.

Jackson goes stiff behind him, then a sudden burst of warmth and wet against his ass, dripping against his skin.

Stiles is sticky and sated and _finally_ comfortable enough for sleep. Jackson slides his hand up to press against Stiles’s belly, spooning tight behind him, mouth light against his shoulder to soothe the mark from his teeth.

Maybe being forced to share a tent with Jackson isn’t entirely a bad thing. Waking up could be fun. “Think about the morningwood possibilities,” he murmurs.

“Sleep, Stiles,” Jackson orders quietly.

Morning will come soon enough, so Stiles does.

* * *

**7.**

The last time Stiles uses his sexuality to get out of trouble is also the first time he truly acknowledges the reality of it.

His father is standing outside the Mahealani house, arms crossed over his uniformed chest. The rolling lights from the cruiser dance across his face in harsh flickers, somehow highlighting his disappointment and frustration as he sighs and says "Stiles, if you don't stop making jokes like that I'm going to start taking you seriously."

Stiles is quiet for once as he climbs into the front of the cruiser, struggling with the realization that his father’s threat is quite possibly the exact thing he hopes would happen.

 

He’s thinking of Danny as he explores the idea more physically in the sanctuary of his own bedroom. It’s not exactly the first time this has happened - Stiles has an equal opportunity policy when it comes to engaging his imagination for his own relief. But it is the first time he gives weight to his fantasies. The first time he vividly imagines how it would actually feel to have those shoulders under his hands and god to have Danny’s hand stroking him exactly like this. To have Danny’s eyes flashing red and intense just as Stiles spills himself all over...wait, what? Shit.

Stiles is a realistic guy and he realizes that there’s a limit to the amount of self-honesty he is capable of in one night, so he cleans himself up and numbs his brain with Halo until he can pass out.

 

It takes him nearly a week to come to terms with the horrifying fact that he totally and completely wants to get with Derek Hale. And that’s rough news, really. It would have been nice if he could’ve set his sights on a less threatening piece of ass. Because as it is...

“Hey, Derek, are you wearing space pants?”

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles.”

 

Nearly two months later and Stiles is shoved against his bedroom door in a way that is probably supposed to be threatening but instead has Stiles struggling not to press forward into Derek’s ridiculous body. Stiles licks his lips and wishes there was something he could think of other than the fact that even when they’re full of loathing Derek has really nice eyes.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got gorgeous eyes?” 

Something flashes across Derek’s face, nearly too fast to catch, but Stiles sees it and thinks that people need to tell Derek how sexy he is much more often if it still takes him by surprise. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Derek says, wrenching Stiles’ t-shirt a bit tighter and slamming him against the door again.

It’s one of those moments where Stiles has too many thoughts running through his head to catch hold of any one of them properly. It’s moments like these where his impulse control takes over, cuts through the complications and acts on his behalf. As his mouth presses warmly against Derek’s he can’t help but be a little bit grateful for that arrangement. He’s even more grateful when Derek is fiercely kissing him back, hand releasing its death grip on Stiles’ shirt to slide up and possessively grip the back of Stiles’ neck instead. 

Derek slides his other hand down Stiles’ stomach, rubs it against Stiles’ hard-on through his jeans. He presses his forehead against Stiles’, breathing hot against his face. “Dammit, Stiles,” he grumbles, hands working together to clumsily open Stiles’ pants. He slides a hand into Stiles briefs, hand wrapping firmly around Stiles’ cock. Derek rubs his face against Stiles neck, stubble rough against Stiles’ skin and Stiles can no longer be held responsible for the sounds he is making.

Stiles gets a handful of Derek’s hair and tugs him into another kiss. Derek retracts his hand, and Stiles learns to move across a room without breaking a kiss, tries not to trip over Derek’s feet as they pause near Stiles’ bed. Stiles unbuckles Derek’s belt only to eagerly slide his hand into Derek’s pants without bothering to undo the fastenings. The edge of Derek’s waistband cuts into the skin on Stiles’ wrist, but he can’t possibly care because he’s finally got his hand wrapped around Derek.

“Shit,” Derek gasps with a glance toward the open window. “Your father’s nearly up the stairs.”

“Good,” Stiles breathes out, pulling a confused looking Derek down onto the bed. Stiles kisses him with renewed resolve as his bedroom door swings open.

* * *

**8.**

"What are those?"

Derek looked down at what he was holding then shoved them in Stiles' direction. "What do they look like?"

"They look like a bouquet of pink roses. Why?"

"We're dating?"

"Is that a question?"

Derek huffed. Stiles grinned.

"So you brought me flowers for the first time because we're dating?" At Derek's nod, Stiles took the flowers. "You know I'm not a fifteen year old girl, right?"

Derek leered at him.

"And we don't usually make it out on dates. I think I can count on one hand the number of times we've gone some place that wasn't a stakeout or supernaturally crisisey. We screw and sometimes you let me cuddle you afterwards."

"Do you want to go out?" He was getting that annoyed frown on his face, and Stiles shook his head because he'd been horny since waking up that morning from a really good dream.

"Dad's at work until midnight."

"Put those in water," Derek said as he headed for the stairs, stripping off his jacket.

Stiles pressed his free hand to his already aching groin and grinned as he stumbled into the kitchen to look for a vase.

*****

The flowers held a prominent place on his night stand, the one that was shaking and threatening to send the fragile vase to the floor, but the werewolf and the human in the bed really didn't care.

Still half-clothed, they were thrusting their hips against each other, devouring each others mouths in hot, hungry kisses, caressing every inch of bare flesh they could find. Stiles was fighting with Derek's belt. Derek was this close to ripping the vintage DC comics t-shirt off his lover. Finally, they broke apart, both panting harshly, and, in silent agreement, stripped themselves.

Stiles was barely naked before Derek was crashing back onto him and the bed rocked and the night stand shook and the vase crept that much closer to the edge.

Derek pushed Stiles' thighs apart, gripped the taut, muscular undersides to pull them around his hips, and rubbed his cock harder and harder against Stiles'.

Clutching at the wide, rippling shoulders above him, Stiles groaned and arched his hips and tightened his legs and, between kisses, babbled, "Fuck, want you, fuck me now, Jesus, just do it." Derek was used to the constant talking, begging, cursing, and ignored him, concentrating on biting a mark into his lover's shoulder. "Jesus, are you sure you're not a vampire...FUCK, Derek, come on!"

His hands slid down Derek's back to grab and squeeze his really great ass and rock his dick up against those magnificent abs and he was so close to coming.

Derek growled not quite human-sounding, and switched shoulders, biting and licking as Stiles yelped and moaned and bucked his hips wildly. The bed rocked harder. The night stand began to sway. The vase was just on the edge.

"Going to come, shit, going to come just from this, fuck you're so...fuck..."

One long, dextrous finger wormed between Derek's ass cheeks and he lost control for a moment, pumping his hips hard, bruising the man beneath him, and neither cared.

Stiles tensed, then yelled and shuddered and came, his cum spilling over both of them and giving Derek's cock something to slide into in quick drives. He hissed, threw back his head, howled--barely restraining the wolf--and came hard and hot across Stiles' stomach and groin.

The bed stopped rocking. The night stand stilled.

The vase crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling water and flowers all over the place.

All Stiles could do was laugh helplessly as he came down from what he hoped would be the first orgasm of the night.

Derek started biting and sucking on his shoulder again.

Yep, just the first.

* * *

**9.**

**Last time Stiles interrupted his parents**

John closed the front door behind him, muffling the noise of the rain outside. 

“John,” Moira was at the top of the stairs, her voice soft as she held a finger to her lips. Her dark hair was still wet from the shower and she was already dressed for bed. Her bare feet took the steps two at a time before she was standing in front of him, her fingers curling around his tie.

“He asleep?” he asked her softening his voice as his thumb found the skin between her shirt and her shorts, pulling her close to press a kiss to her lips. 

She laughed against his mouth “Just checked, out like a light.” She backed up towards the steps, pulling him by his tie. John laughed, letting himself be led enjoying the wicked smile that curved her lips. She turned still holding his tie and he was pressed up against her close as they went up the steps to their room. His hand still rested on her hip and he used that to spin her around as the door closed behind them. He pressed her against it, lips attacking her neck and her fingers gripped his hair.

She pushed him away and he let her, watching with delight as she started working on the holster of the gun that was still strapped on him. She handled it with deft hands, pulling it off his shoulders and placing it on the dresser. John reached back to lock the door, knowing their son had a habit of picking the most inconvenient times to ask for a glass of water.

Moira stepped back, pulling her shirt over her head as she went. John worked on his tie, pulling it loose and letting it drop to the floor. He surged forward, cupping her breast in his hand. He felt her fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and they tumbled to the bed. 

With a preteen in the house they knew time wasn’t on their side as they rushed to shed the rest of their clothes. 

It had been too long since they’d done this.

Finally, kicking his pants off John moved to help his wife with her shorts, sliding them down her legs. Her legs spread before him and he gave her a quick smile as he shifted, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. He licked upwards, teasing her. Her laugh broke out on a moan, her fingers moving to grip his hair again as he worked her over. She was wet across his mouth, the taste of her breaking over his tongue and he ached for her. Still, he took his time, loving the feeling of her shaking apart under him.

“John,” her voice was shaky but firm “c’mon.”

He gave her one last lick, smiling into her as he moved up her body. Her hands hot around him as she guided him into her. They both groaned against each other as her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms curved under her to bring her tighter against him.

They had just set a fast rhythm, both too desperate to go slow when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Mom,” the voice was small and scratchy “is dad home?”

John bit back a curse and Moira muffled her moan against his shoulder. They stopped bodies tense and Moira called out “Yeah honey, can you give us a minute?”

Stiles voice was sad “I don’t feel good.” The damn kid sounded bad and John moved off his wife. Moira was already reaching for her clothes and John did the same, dressing quickly. As soon as his wife was decent John unlocked the door, his heart going out to the sad eyes that poked through. 

“Hey buddy.” He reached out to touch his forehead “Moira, he’s burning up.” The phone rang and John grimaced, knowing as late as it was it could only be the station calling him to come back in. 

Moira was already pulling on some sweats, reaching for her jacket. “I’ll take him to the emergency room; we’ll finish this when you get off.” 

John sighed, grabbing his holster to strap it back on. “Drive safe, it’s been raining hard and the roads are dangerous.” He leaned forward to kiss her hard, brushing his hand affectingly through Stiles hair again.

He wouldn’t know that that would be the last time he saw his wife alive.

* * *

**10.**

**Sleep well, sweet prince**

Once upon a time there was a girl with strawberry hair and glossy lips. Lydia her parents named her and beloved she was in all the land. The wisest of wise men could not match her wits. But then one day a wolf appeared in the woods and with wicked claws and fire eyes he hunted her and bit her flesh. A wound he ripped but heal she did, for teeth and claw could never pierce her heart. Three days she slept and dreamed of him. A boy he was as he came to her, tall and handsome with eyes so blue. "Save me, sweet girl," he spoke with a smile and kissed her pink lips. He gave her a flower and she awoke with a scream.

Her friends rejoiced when she rejoined their play, but her smiles now came slow and her eyes grew dim. The boy in her dreams had fire eyes now and his sweet, sweet smile cut like a knife. So she slipped on her cloak and went down to the stream. The dew covered grass cushioned her feet, no animal stirred as it swallowed all sound. Her fingers were sure and her gaze was sharp as she wove flowers so blue into her strawberry hair. 

She waited for him when the moon stood round in the sky and the air filled with spring. As the stars shone above he came to her. Half man and half beast he stepped out of the woods and bowed his head. She took him by the hand and led him inside, up the small steps and into her room.

By candlelight she took him to bed, pushed on his chest and straddled his hips. So different he looked from the boy in her dreams, wicked his grin and sharp his tongue. He gazed at her with wonder in his eyes before hunger inflamed the beast inside. The dress she wore was mossy green and she shuddered when his claws ripped through the silk. She gripped his shoulders as he disheveled her hair and licked at her mouth. His hands were rough and broad on her flesh. His claws were sharp but his teeth were blunt. They raked her skin but they left no marks. It was her who drew blood, biting his mouth and scratching his back. It was her who was out to hunt tonight, armed to the teeth with an soft, soft smile and a flinty heart. 

"Perfect, so perfect," he murmured as she rode him so hard, rode him until his voice grew gravelly and hoarse. She arched her back and rolled her hips, making it ache so good inside. Such sweet, sweet agony he caused in her. His fingers dug deep into her hips and his teeth snapped together when he spilled at last. He threw back his head and howled as she tore at his neck. Her teeth bit deep and her thighs held him close as black pulsed forth from his blue, blue eyes. She caught him as his body grew slack, life bleeding out as his breathing gave out. He looked young in her arms, like the boy in her dreams. Sweet and terrible his smile, coated in black. She stroked his hair and she kissed his cheek. "Sleep well, my sweet prince. You've taken your last bite of me."

* * *

**11.**

They fuck first, because Derek says the scent will help keep him anchored. Stiles isn't sure that's true, but he pushes Derek down on the bed and rides him until he comes all over Derek's stomach and Derek is spilling deep inside him.

*

They go out to the old Hale house and Stiles makes a circle of Mountain Ash, Derek standing naked in the center. Once it's closed Derek starts pacing, eyebrows drawn in concentration. Stiles watches, quiet.

When the shift begins Stiles stops breathing. It's amazing, terrifying; Derek's body shakes and twists and grows twice his normal size, black fur covering pale skin. Derek's eyes glow red, face contorting into a wolf-like snout, fangs sharp.

Stiles can't look away. Derek drops to all fours and walks forward; he stops in front of Stiles, staring at him with fully red eyes. Derek's Alpha form looks nothing like a regular wolf, huge and powerful and the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

He reaches out slowly and Derek huffs, nosing at his hand when it crosses the ash. Stiles draws in a sharp breath, fingers carding through silky fur, and Derek leans into his hand before stepping away. Stiles doesn't think, just follows him, stepping into the circle.

Derek growls and Stiles freezes, but then Derek is reaching out and carefully taking the open edge of Stiles' plaid shirt in his teeth, tugging him further in. He pushes his weight into Stiles and makes him go sprawling on the leaf-covered ground. Stiles stares up at Derek with wide eyes; he's not scared, but he is confused.

Derek starts nosing at the crotch of his jeans, rubbing his snout along Stiles' soft dick. Stiles lets out a strangled noise and tries to scramble back, but Derek presses one huge paw to his chest, holding him in place. He rubs his nose harder against Stiles' dick and Stiles flushes, feeling himself start to grow hard. He swallows; this was not part of the plan, but _fuck_ , he wants it.

"Okay," he says. "Just let me – I want to –"

Derek moves back and watches as Stiles undresses, his dick now achingly hard.

"How – I mean, what exactly –"

Derek nudges at his hip and Stiles moans, rolling over and lifting his ass in the air, spreading his knees. Derek moves behind him, snuffling at where Stiles' hole is still open and wet from earlier. His paws come down on either side of Stiles' head, huge body covering Stiles completely, and oh god, Derek's dick is bigger in this form too.

Stiles makes himself breathe as Derek pushes in, stretching him wider than he's ever been stretched before, filling him so full he thinks he might burst. Soft growls are echoing from above him, and Stiles is pretty sure his dick is hard enough to cut diamonds.

Stiles moans, and Derek must take that as permission because he starts snapping his hips, hard.

Stiles cries out, arms collapsing at the force. He is literally being fucked into the ground by a huge-ass werewolf, and it's the hottest thing that has ever happened to him. Derek's thrusts are wild and abandoned, animalistic, his claws digging into the dirt next to Stiles' face, and all Stiles can do is fucking take it.

Stiles almost chokes when he feels Derek's dick start to grow even bigger right at the base, tugging at Stiles' rim, and he's not sure why he didn't think this might happen. Derek has knotted him before, not every time but often enough, and Stiles groans as he thinks about being tied to him like this.

Derek slams inside one last time, shoving the still-growing knot in as hard as he can, and Stiles shouts a curse as he comes. His body shakes, dick jerking, coating the ground in strips of white. It's intense, his stretched out ass clenching around Derek's huge dick, knot pressing against his prostate and making his vision blur.

Above him, Derek pants loudly, and Stiles can feel every pulse of his dick as he fills him with come. He knows it won't end anytime soon, so he shifts, trying to lie down flat, and Derek carefully moves with him.

"I love you," Stiles says, and he's never said that before but he means it, oh god, he means it.

Derek whines, and snuffles along Stiles' jaw until he can lick at Stiles' mouth. Stiles laughs happily, and reaches up to scratch his fingers through Derek's fur.

* * *

**12.**

**Ten weeks.**

To Derek, ten weeks without Stiles, sounded like ten years, but Derek knew the summer internship was important. Stiles could have gone anywhere, but chose Derek and the pack. However, it sounded codependent, but they had never parted that long. 

But for Stiles, Derek packed the Jeep, and watched his love leave. 

 

Derek looked forward to their phone calls, where they would talk into the night, sometimes falling asleep listening to each other. But it still didn't help Derek miss Stiles consent presence.

 

Apparently, after two months of “moping”, his fed-up pack decided to intervene.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Saving my sanity,” Isaac turned on his laptop, “I told Stiles you'll be on Skype tonight. I'm setting you up before I leave, since you never Skype'd. He'll be on around nine.”

Derek passed the time doing mundane things, but still was at the laptop ten minutes early, waiting.

“Hey Sourwolf. Heard you're making the puppies lives miserable?” Stiles said in greeting. Normally Derek would have a comeback, however he choked on his words, Stiles was naked on his screen.

“Why are you...”

“I am trying so hard not to miss your touch,” Stiles confessed. “So I...”

Derek's next words surprised himself.

“Show me what you miss.”

Stiles directed his actions, placing two fingers on the pulse point behind his ear. “You like to start here,” Stiles tapped the area twice, “breathing in my scent, adding your own,” sliding fingers down his neck, toward his throat, “I love your open-mouth kisses on my skin. Your soft growls when I bare my neck.”

Stiles left hand brushed up his ribcage, as his right traveled down. “I miss when you mark me, each bite tingling with heat.”

Both hands met low on his chest, then traveled down his sides, stopping low on his abdomen. 

“Stiles, make me watch. Make yourself hard.”

“Okay, just...” Stiles readjusted himself low on the chair, both feet extended wide on the desk, displaying everything, from his semi-hard cock, to his tight hole. It was torture seeing Stiles so open, and still be hundreds of miles away.

“Touch your cock Stiles.”

Obeying, Stiles circled the base with his long fingers, slowly twisted up, then sliding down. With every stroke, Derek could see Stile's cock swell. The effect was equal on him.

“I wish this was your hand Derek, or shit, your mouth,” Stiles slowed his movement, reaching for a small bottle.

“Derek, I miss you slowly working me open with your fingers. Remember when you made me cum just by working my prostate? You milked me until every touch felt like electricity?” Stiles kept his monolog going, spreading lube on his fingers.

“Fuck.” Derek moaned, too far gone to not touch himself. Stiles didn't prepare himself often, Derek liked the control, but that didn't make watching any less erotic.

“Imagine how tight I am, it's been eight weeks since you fucked me hard.” Slipping one finger inside, Stiles’s whole body shivered. “Fuck, your fingers are so much thicker.”

“Work another in Stiles, open yourself for me.”

Stiles's middle finger follow the index, stretching his tight pink ring.

“Work them in farther, find that sweet spot,” Derek coaxed. Grabbing some lotion, Derek drizzled the cool gel in his hand, working himself harder watching Stiles wantonly screwed himself on his own hand.

Stiles called to Derek with an intake of air when he hit his prostate, jerking his body forward.  
“Only two fingers, I want you tight for me, and keep your hand off your cock, I want it leaking, from your fingers and my voice.”

Pulling his thighs wide, Stiles opened himself getting his long fingers in deeper.

“Good, show me how hard you want to cum for me. How hard you want my dick deep inside your ass.”

“Derek please,” Stiles begged.

“Not yet,” Derek worked himself faster, until he was rewarded with a few drops of pre-cum.

“Now Stiles, cum hard for me!”

Stiles hand flew to his dick. With hard jerking movements, it wasn't long until Stiles toes curled and he screamed Derek's name, spunk flying high.

A few quick twists of his cock-head, and Derek followed Stiles with a muffled grunt and the visual of Stiles, body twitching, fingers buried deep.

A visual that will be burned in Derek brain.

“Still with me Stiles?”

“Mmm? Derek that was...”

“I know. Tomorrow I'm buying a laptop.”

“Now you decide to join the twenty-first century?”

“You finally showed me an activity I'll enjoy.”

* * *

**13.**

Today was the first time in their two years together as trapeze artists that Derek failed to catch Stiles. There’ve been some near misses but somehow, they’ve always managed to hang on to each other - Derek’s preternatural strength and reflexes snatching out at the last moment to snag some part of Stiles and keep him from falling; Stiles lithe flexibility and tensile strength reaching and grabbing Derek impossibly. 

Today Derek’s arms lashed out, hands grasping and instead of catching Stiles, his grip slipped; Stiles reached back and missed. Stiles went into a stomach churning pinwheel fall, off center of the net. He landed hard - almost off the mat on the ribbing, bouncing once and then flopping over the side, pitching the remaining four feet to the ground. 

He’s got bright blue, purple and red bruising blossoming across his ribs and back, and the inside of his right armpit. Deaton said he’s lucky nothing is broken. Stiles smiles, a little doped up on painkillers and left over adrenaline. He turns to Derek and says, "Lucky you. You break it, you buy it."

After Deaton leaves their makeshift medical tent, Derek stands there, staring down at Stiles and he _is_ lucky, he’s _so_ lucky because Stiles loves him and Stiles trusts him and when he felt Stiles slipping through his fingers and saw him falling, falling, long limbs flailing and twisting as he tried to get himself more over the net, even in mid air, Derek felt like just letting go of the bar and falling after him. 

He leans over Stiles, caging him with his arms and Stiles looks up at him, a little confused, a little dopey from the drugs, but open and relaxed. Derek kisses him soft, slow and wet, licking into Stiles’ mouth - his perfect bow shaped mouth. Derek sucks on Stiles’ upper lip, working it between his teeth and Stiles exhales a quiet moan, pulling back a little to say, "hey, hey, it’s okay." Derek skates his fingertips over Stiles collarbone, then chest, then down his side, fingers barely touching where he knows the bruises are flowering bright and hot. Stiles makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat when Derek slips his fingers into Stiles thin, worn gymnastic leotard and starts palming Stiles dick with slow, careful circles. 

"Let me, let me," Derek whispers against Stiles lips, tongue darting out to lick at Stiles’. He needs this, Derek _needs_ this, needs to hear Stiles soft whimper and quiet huff of air and then his hitching breath when Derek teases the slit of his cock. He needs to feel Stiles breathing increase, hear his heart speed up as Derek traces a fingernail over the most sensitive spot on the underside of Stiles’ cock. He needs to feel Stiles’ fingers tangling in his hair, pulling lightly. Needs to see Stiles bite his lip and hear him groan when Derek squeezes out a fat drop of pre-come and swirls it around the head, just the way Stiles likes. Derek bends down, teeth and lips latching onto the bony protrusion of Stiles’ collarbone and he can’t fucking _believe_ that all of Stiles’ bones are still intact after that fall. He bites down, needing to feel the solid resistance of Stiles’ bones and Stiles keens, gasps and Derek squeezes a little bit harder on Stiles’ dick. Derek should stop for lube or to lick his hand or something but he can’t. He laves at the indentations his teeth have made in Stiles skin, feeling sorry and regretful for adding to the multitude of marks on Stiles’ pale flesh. He keeps jacking Stiles firmly, hearing the tell-tale way Stiles’ breathing changes right before comes. He covers Stiles’ mouth with his own again, thrusting his tongue in deep and hard, wanting to crawl inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ hips hitch up and Derek squeezes a little harder, the way Stiles likes and then Derek teases at the slit again and Stiles freezes up and comes over Derek’s hand, panting in Derek’s mouth, saying Derek’s name and it’s perfect, it’s perfect, he’s perfect. Derek smears Stiles’ come over his dick, wringing out the last drops and Stiles whimpers. He’s Derek’s and he’s alive and he’s perfect.

* * *

**14.**

"These children truly have no idea what they're doing," Peter says, tossing his headphones to the side, hand outstretched to close the lid of his laptop.

It's been over a year since his re-birth, but he's still banned from pack meetings when Lydia Martin is in attendance. Instead, he has to sit in his apartment across the hall from Derek's, trying to eavesdrop, waiting for his nephew to include him in their plans, as if he doesn't have a lifetime of knowledge and experience that could be useful against their latest foe.

But Peter has never been one to sit idly by. He hoped the camera he'd hidden in Derek's living room would give him insight into the inner workings of Derek's motley band of misfits, but this inaugural run has proven to be anything but fruitful.

Only the sight of Stiles lingering by the couch gives him pause. He watches the group shuffle out of sight, hears Derek's door slam closed and several sets of footsteps stomp down the stairs, then refocuses on the activity on his screen.

Putting his earbuds back in, he turns the sound all the way up, relieved he's finally going to get some potentially useful information. Peter wonders what Stiles has dug up that he didn't want to share with the rest of the pack. What he doesn't expect to see is Stiles stalk over to Derek, pull him close and practically attack his mouth with his own.

"Well, well," Peter says, scooting down on the couch into a more comfortable position.

Stiles kisses like Peter's always thought he would, in a frenzy of movement, hands everywhere, as if he can't decide what to kiss or touch or taste first. The way Derek immediately wraps his arms around Stiles lets Peter know this isn't a new development, and he wonders how he never noticed before. But then Derek's pack is made up of horny, attractive teenagers, so a cloud of lust perpetually hangs in the air in Derek's loft; Peter's just failed to realize who's responsible for it.

He can vaguely hear little moans and grunts, a sharp gasp of breath when Stiles pushes Derek down onto the couch, settling on the floor in front of him, but imagination is a wonderful thing and he lets his mind fill in the gaps.

Mimicking Stiles' actions, he unzips his jeans as Stiles undoes Derek's, pulling them down his thighs just far enough to get his hardening cock out, spreading his legs as wide as his jeans will allow. He spits into his palm, imagines Stiles' warm, wet hand wrapping around him, and settles into a quick rhythm to match Stiles' movements, giving his balls a rough squeeze.

Stiles' cheeks are flushed, teeth biting into kiss swollen lips, tongue peeking out while he pants and squirms to rub himself against Derek's leg, entirely focused on the task at hand. Peter imagines hot bursts of breath hitting his own overheated skin and inhales deeply, recalling the sharp tang of Stiles' scent from all those months ago in the parking garage, a heady mix of what he likes to think was fear and lust. Heat coils in his belly when he sees Derek's hips begin to hitch in little jerky movements.

"Come on, come on," Stiles says, twisting his wrist around the head of Derek's cock, picking up speed. His hand disappears between Derek's legs, and out of sight of Peter's camera, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what Stiles is doing.

Derek shouts when he comes a minute later, Peter following closely behind, spilling over his fist when Stiles dips his head down and takes the head of Derek's cock between his lips, into what Peter is certain to be warm, wet heaven. He's still catching his breath when Stiles unzips himself and climbs into Derek's lap.

"Okay, my turn, and make it quick. I still have a curfew, you know," Stiles says, leaning in and baring his neck to Derek.

Lacking the recovery time of a teenager and lazy with his own orgasm, Peter puts his laptop aside, content to watch this time, certain he'll put the recording to good use later. He congratulates himself on the success of his surveillance setup and makes a mental note to get a second camera for Derek's bedroom. He may not have gotten the information he expected, but all in all, the evening's events have been...enlightening.

* * *

**15.**

The first time Stiles died, he was alone.

Spread out on the forest floor, arrow sticking out of his chest, his mouth filled with blood, thick and warm on his tongue. Amidst the pain and the panic, he felt the slowing thump of his heart and the sluggish pulse of arterial blood pooling beneath him on the moonlight-dappled ground. Frothy red bubbles spilled from his lips as he choked and struggled to breathe while fear and resignation welled within him. Body in agony, fingers twitching feebly in the dirt, Stiles allowed his eyes to flutter closed and took that last peaceful gasp.

-

Stiles awoke.

He inhaled sharply, back arching, eyes flying open as he writhed on the dusty, broken floor of the Hale house. He flailed wildly, but managed to convince his uncoordinated limbs to push his body into a sitting position. Once upright, he had his arms full of Scott. Scott hugged him tight, buried his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and shook.

“It worked,” he said in disbelief. “You’re alright!”

Stiles patted Scott’s back as he looked around the room. No one would meet his gaze, not even Peter who took a slow uneven step back. Derek was kneeling next to him, fingers clasped like iron around Stiles’ wrist, eyes glowing _blue._ There was a distinct smell of sulfur, a bottle of mountain ash nearby, and when Stiles disengaged from Scott’s arms, he looked down at his ruined shirt and saw the small healed divot where a wound should’ve been.

He sucked in a breath.

“What did you do?”

No one answered.

-

After a week Stiles knew something was wrong. He was alive but… defective. He pushed open the door to Derek’s loft, let himself in and followed the sounds of cooking to the kitchen. Stiles pulled out a chair, the legs scraping on the hardwood.

Derek startled and dropped the pot of macaroni, noodles erupting across the floor.

“How did you not hear me?” Stiles asked.

Derek stared for a moment then dropped to his knees, scooping up the mess.

“Why can’t Scott look at me? Why does Boyd flinch when I touch him? Why can’t Isaac stay in the same room with me for five minutes?”

Derek stood, dumped his ruined dinner in the sink.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Stiles swallowed. His throat clicked. “Hollowed out.”

Derek looked away, ran his fingers over the worn countertop, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“It’s temporary, isn’t it?”

A sharp nod.

“How long do I have?”

“Days. Months. Years. As long as the magic holds.”

Stiles stood suddenly, knocking over his chair. “You should have told me! Someone should have told me! I _died_ , Derek. Died!”

“I know!” Derek shouted herding Stiles backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall, Derek a wall of heat in front of him. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’ and breathed. “I know.”

He cupped Stiles face in his hands reverently, eyes sharp on Stiles’ features, then he surged forward and kissed him, hard, desperate. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, hauled him closer, kissed and bit at Derek’s lips, filled himself up with the taste and the heat.

They stumbled to the bed, shedding clothes as they went, Derek’s claws raking across Stiles’ skin as he gasped Stiles’ name over and over like a prayer.

When Derek bent him over, slid into him thick and hard, Stiles reveled in the stretch, the pleasure-pain of too much too fast, the sensation of his breath being punched out with each fierce thrust, because it meant he was alive and he wasn’t empty anymore. Derek panted against the back of Stiles’ neck, his hands bruising on Stiles’ hips. He fucked Stiles like he was terrified Stiles would disappear from beneath him - urgent, wild, primal. Stiles was already close, dick dripping pre-come onto the sheets, but he held on as long as he could, until Derek stripped Stiles’ dick with a lube-slicked hand. Stiles came with a cry, clenching around Derek’s cock as Derek ground his hips against Stiles’ ass. Derek growled when he came, bit the nape of Stiles’ neck.

After, Derek clung to Stiles like death, his body curled around him, his hand over the place where the arrow had pierced Stiles’ flesh. Stiles laid there, inhaled the scent of sex and sweat and decided he would take what Derek could offer, fill himself up with what he could, for as long as time allowed.

* * *

**16.**

Erica likes her body - an accomplishment for any teenager, but especially one who had this very body turn on her before. She likes it even more now when it changed from a cage to an instrument, one that answers to her with no risk of disobedience. She likes that she gets to learn it anew, now that she has unwavering control over it.

She just couldn't wait to test for the first time how all of this translates into touching herself. And then again. And again.   
When she travels the expanse of her own bare stomach and cups the weight of her breasts, Erica rarely thinks about boys she knows. It's too difficult to separate the thought of their bodies with hers from the memories of way they'd laugh at her after the seizures, so she disregards most of them. Sometimes she fingers herself thinking about Stiles, and how he'd be tentative and shy, touch her neck, collarbones, ribs, thighs before he dared to slip his long fingers where she's wet (she traces these imaginary paths with her own hands).

After the lab incident, spread out on her bed and naked, proud of how she likes herself naked, Erica tries to think about Scott. Maybe she’s supposed to think about Scott, isn't that what Derek ordered? But by the time she's absentmindedly stroking over her dark pebbled nipples with her thumbs she's back to Stiles. 

Would he fuck her differently now that he's angry? Would his touch be more harsh? Erica spasms one hand over her breast, harder than she ever does, and finds out that it feels good, surprisingly good, pain nothing but an exciting zing.

She keeps releasing and squeezing one breast, and uses the other hand to rake fingernails over her ribs. Erica doesn't think Stiles would do this, but it makes her back arch and the dull pulse in her clit speed up, so she keeps going. The same nails ? barely controlled claws ? feel just this side of too intense on the inside of her thighs, and then very carefully tracing outside her labia. Something about this feels off, but Erica's too excited by her new discovery to stop. She dips her finger in, between the soft, wet folds, and then follows the easy slide all the way in. She shifts her hips, trying to push further, suddenly frustrated and overheated. She pumps her finger, sharp and not at all teasing, adds another one after just a moment, rolls and pinches a nipple, makes a third finger join the two in her pussy.

A small sound punctuates the steady rise and fall of her harsh breathing and Erica thinks that no, Stiles wouldn't do that. He wouldn't dare touch her like that.

She's tired of that imaginary Stiles, doesn't want to be treated like she can break again at any moment even by her own fantasy. She thinks of different eyes on her, angry ones, and when she uses her thumb to press down on her clit, Erica imagines it’s Allison Argent doing these things to her. 

She would, she would ? Erica rubs tight circles with her thumb, wiggles her hips away from the sensation of too much but at the same time speeds her fingers up. She has all those images of Allison kneeling over her, biting and sucking flesh between her teeth, not at all playful but punishing. Erica doesn't want to come, tries to push the orgasm away at the same time the Allison of her imagination drives unrelenting fingers into her, orders her to give it up. 

Erica's so wet her fingers almost slip, don't feel as painful as she'd like them to be. She clenches the hand on her breast to make up for it, deep into the soft flesh, and comes with a choked sound that isn't a moan but rather a whimper. The aftershocks of the orgasm keep coming like waves, each punctuated with an ache of her overstimulated clit. Pulling fingers out of her pussy makes Erica bite her lips.

Erica lays in her bed, her hand wet with her own juices resting carelessly on her stomach. She can't wait to try this again. And then again. And again.

* * *

**17.**

Isaac rubs the inside of his thigh absent-mindedly. With Derek being his alpha, the thought of surrendering to Peter shouldn't cross his mind.

But Peter has a way of disturbing Isaac's thoughts.

Peter had challenged Derek only once in all the years since his return. Claws out, eyes wild, nephew and uncle had been poised to rip out each other's throats before the pack intervened. That was the first time Isaac caught a glimpse of Peter's teeth, razor sharp and glinting in the moonlight.

Since then Peter eyes him from the shadows, smiles when Derek isn't looking, whispers his intentions in his ear. _You can join me instead. All it takes is the bite._

Isaac's hand drifts from his thigh to his neck, where the scar of Derek's bite, the one that had turned him, pulses still in his skin. On the nights when Derek takes him into his bed and fucks him slow and hard, he doesn't think of anyone else. But those nights are few.

Isaac shifts on the floor mat and Erica stirs. Her head rests on his stomach, and Boyd sleeps wrapped around her in a heavy line. Even with Derek out with Stiles, they are content. The house silently surrounds them in their dreams.

A noise down below. Isaac sniffs. It's Peter's scent. He fights the urge to shift, instead slipping out from under Erica, who turns into Boyd's embrace and kisses him sleepily. Isaac, underwear-clad, tip-toes down creaky stairs and glimpses a flash of light and a smile.

"Peter--"

Strong hands grip his shoulders and drag him into the dining room, the unexpected proximity of the muscled body forcing him to grip the table behind him for support.

"I've been waiting for this chance for so long. How dare my nephew leave his pups unattended?" Peter caresses the mark on Isaac's neck.

"I--"

"Hush," Peter says, holding a finger to his lips. "You've already told me so much these past years, and I'm ready to give you my reply."

Isaac's elbows give out, just a little, and he sags into Peter's embrace.

Peter sniffs at the hollow of his throat. "Tell me, do I smell like a beta to you?" His hand travels up Isaac's flank, where even now disobedient hair is blooming.

Isaac shakes his head.

"Yet so it is, until I can build a pack of my own. If I give you my bite," and here Peter's teeth graze Isaac's neck, "you will belong to me. I would never treat you like he does, abandoning you while he plays at being human. I would keep you in my bed, pet. Always." Peter's arm tightens threateningly around his waist. "Will you take it?"

"Please," Isaac begs. The word sounds as a desperate cry, not any word of human language.

Peter smiles. He lifts Isaac onto the table and crawls over him, knocking a basket of apples to the floor. Isaac lies down to accommodate Peter's purpose and opens himself to the demanding tongue that searches between his lips and deprives him of breath. The moon is out tonight, and Derek is far away, too occupied to sense the intrusion. Would he come if he knew, would he put a stop to this? Peter's rough clothes chafe against Isaac's unprotected skin.

"You're such a beautiful wolf." His fingers are twisted tight in Isaac's curls. 

Isaac wraps a leg around Peter's waist and shifts his hips, the weight of Peter settling more firmly between his legs. If he could hold himself wider, he would.

Peter nips down Isaac's stomach, teasing, and takes him in his mouth, growling around his cock when Isaac scratches red welts into his shoulders. He sucks until he's pleased himself and then, withdrawing to sit on folded knees, he hauls Isaac's ass off the table. Isaac digs his heels into Peter's shoulders as Peter licks him roughly, cajoling him open wide enough to slip in his tongue. His teeth scrape Isaac's skin, his hands too tight around his hips.

"Go on. Let them hear."

Isaac howls.

There's a shift in the air. Peter kisses along his thigh. Isaac flails for something to grasp when Peter's teeth dig into the tender pocket of flesh, but there's nothing except the hard wood of the table he's lying on. He cries out as his orgasm takes him in hard, wrenching waves and spills over his stomach.

Peter smiles. Even in the dark Isaac can see his bloodied fangs. "You smell like mine."

* * *

**18.**

It isn't the broken bones, the gaping wounds, the deep cuts. They hurt like a bitch, but somehow, that concentration of pain makes them easier to deal with. It is the bumps, the bruises, the nagging cuts that truly get under his skin. They are the things that linger, festering until his life becomes a constant ache of things that are _wrong_ , of things that never fully heal, crusted blood scabbed over quickly by new cuts.

He is tired of it.

He aches all over, bone-tired and his body just as battered, but he manages to live long enough to come home, and that's good enough for now, right? The house is still, his father asleep on the couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him.

Festering.

He clenches his jaw and forces his way up the stairs, but there is a light in his bedroom and when he walks in, Danny is sitting on his bed, one of his comic books lying open on his lap, still on the first page.

"Your dad let me in," he says just as Stiles asks what he's doing there. He looks up at Stiles and curses. "Fuck, what _happened_?"

"You should've seen the other guy," Stiles tries, but when he fails to coax even a half-smile from Danny: "Wendigo."

"Stiles--" 

"I'm fine, honest, it's just a few things--"

"I came to apologize."

It's weird, when Danny's hands cup his cheeks, tender and hesitant. Stiles doesn't know if it's worse when he meets Danny's gaze because it's a different kind of gutting, like the air knocked out of him and every physical pain replaced by an awful sort of regret twisting into his chest, the echo of the things he shouted earlier coming back to haunt him. "Danny, _I'm_ sorry."

"You're right," Danny says. "I _don't_ know everything, and sometimes I don't understand why you would-- but whether you like it or not I'm part of it too, I _should_ be part of you too--"

Stiles kisses him, because he's biting his lips in that way that makes Stiles want to. "I know," he tells him. "I know, I'm sorry, Danny I fucked up, I didn't mean what I said--"

"Just don't run off," Danny murmurs, lips soft against Stiles's. "Don't walk away mad, don't--"

"I promise," Stiles says, and Danny doesn't finish his sentence because maybe he doesn't want to say it, and Stiles sure as hell doesn't want to hear it. Instead he curls his fingers against Danny's shirt, kissing him soundly even as his head begins to throb, as his body cries from exhaustion.

"Stiles--"

"Please, Danny, just--" 

And maybe Danny hears the desperation there, maybe he wants it just as bad, but his hands are on Stiles's hips, fingers gentle as they skim the waistband of Stiles's jeans, nearly reverent as he slips them off Stiles. 

"What?" he asks when Stiles chuckles.

"I'm not made of _china_ , dude, I can handle it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Danny says, and Stiles swallows the lump in his throat, lets Danny touch him like he's glass, like he's precious. He lets him press ghost kisses on his bruises, feather-light touches on his cuts. "Jesus, Stiles--"

Stiles tries to crack a joke about his Adonis physique, but his sarcasm falters against Danny's actual concern. "It's fine," he says, pulling Danny up for a kiss, his own hands flat against the muscles on Danny's body, moving lower until he's stroking Danny's cock. "It'll heal, sooner or later."

"Stiles--"

"You know," he says meaningfully, punctuating each word with a stroke, a squeeze, a harder grip, "I always find it helps when I'm distracted."

"You're crazy," Danny tells him, but he kisses him again-- on his lips, deep and hungry-- on his neck, wet and playful-- on his chest, with a hint of teeth--

"Oh my _god_ , Danny--" Stiles whimpers, fingers tight against Danny. Danny's mouth finds his hips, the heat of his breath a second's warning before he's got Stiles's cock in his mouth, wet tongue laving the length of it, lips tight around it as Danny hollows his cheeks, careful, meticulous, enough to drive Stiles to a begging mess. 

Later, when Danny presses barely wet fingers in him, Stiles will wince, but shake his head at Danny's concern and tell him to continue.

There are some aches worth having. They are the ones that tell him what's real.

* * *

**19.**

It'd been years since he'd last been in a dive like this. One of those seedy highway bars with too much neon, sticky floors, and a thick haze of smoke hanging in the air. The music was a mindless thrumming of bass and insistent vibration to Derek at this point, all his senses blissfully muffled so that everything seemed to swim in a colorful haze around him. He knew he was more than a little drunk, more than a little fucked up on shots from a bottle of tequila with a careful mixture of herbs floating in the bottom of the bottle. He couldn't really taste the grit of it anymore. Didn’t care until the terrifyingly familiar scent of jasmine suddenly flooded his nose as a woman slid onto the stool next to him.

Young, brunette, and Kate was _dead_ \-- but she looked so much like her...

The faint scent of lithium grease clung to her hands and he could see the tell-tale outline of a taser hidden in her jacket and a knife in her boot. A hunter then and a stupid one if her glazed eyes were any indication. Flush with alcohol and just barely steady on her feet. The urge to lash out hit him then, like a buckshot to the chest. He turned away to hide the sudden blood red gleam of his eyes but there was no mistaking the cracking of wood under his suddenly sharp nails.

She went still for a second and then bought him a drink.

**********

"I'll hurt you." He finally said, an hour later. Grasping at some last minute form of self-preservation. The urge to rend and rut was growing with every nervous flutter of her hands and dizzying burn of laced alcohol.

It'd been so _long_...

"I know." she answered, knocking back one last shot.

She must not do this often.

They stumbled out the back door together, didn’t look too closely at each other. He couldn’t see clearly with the way the world was warping in front of his eyes. Relying mostly on scent and sound to guide him until they stopped just before reaching the brightly lit parking lot.

He waited, distracted by rabbit-quick beating of her heart and the heat of her body next to his.

"Do you have a pack?" She finally asked.

Flashes of Erica and Boyd leaving, the brightening of Isaac's face with Scott and Deaton, Jackson's sneer, and Peter's mocking smirk came to mind.

"No." He ground out with a wounded growl.

She didn't say anything, but instead slowly started walking backwards toward the forested area behind the bar, clumsily undoing the buttons of her blouse as she went.

"Bite me and I’ll kill you." She slurred decisively, and took off.

A satisfied rumble built in his chest in response and Derek gave chase. 

**********

She was poised to ride him right there in the mud. The sinuous curve of her body outlined by moonlight, and her breasts bare and still damp from his mouth. Their clothes were scattered around them haphazardly and his fingers were still sloppy-wet when they finally figured each other out. Heads cleared just enough from the chill spring air to be dangerous.

They moved at the same time, to haphazardly stab and rend despite the tequila weighing down their limbs. To harm. All it really managed to do was force her body down and his cock up with an obscene smack of flesh against flesh. Derek grit his teeth at the hot-wet pleasure of it and moved to snap at her throat with his teeth, still too compromised by wolfsbane to be anything but human-weak. Allison even managed to get a hand in his hair and pull hard enough that he was forced back, unable to get a fang in.

Half-heartedly they fought. Blood, sweat, and mud coating their bodies and soiling the flimsy fabric of her skirt. Every furious buck of his body and vicious thrash of hers just increased the ache building between them. It rose, crested, and burst through the pathetic barrier of their self control until her hips worked over him in desperate, vicious circles that she seemed helpless to stop. The demanding friction of it made his cock spit and throb until the air was alive with the scent of sex and shame.

“Derek... **_Derek_**....!”

He roared, clawing and coming ‘til both their thighs were wet with it and Allison cried out her pleasure in heaving gasps and pained sobs against his shoulder.

* * *

**20.**

Let’s just say that it’s summer. And it’s hot. And Stiles had no idea Peter saw his browser history, or he would have been suspicious of how much care the man put into him not getting dehydrated.

He’s just about to head for the bathroom when Peter grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, it turns filthy quickly and the next moment he’s in the man’s lap, having his tongue sucked at. Peter’s hand moves under his shirt and Stiles can’t help the moan that leaves him, because there’s never enough of Peter touching him.

“Mm, you smell...” the werewolf comments, but it isn't exactly a complaint, considering how he buries his face in Stiles neck sniffing, then there’s a tongue lapping away at the beads of perspiration at the base of his throat. Stiles doesn't put up a fight when Peter makes quick work of getting him naked. It’s hot anyway.

They end up on the floor with Stiles’ ass in the air being rimmed within an inch of his life, and seriously, it should be disgusting, but who is he to take Peter’s fun away?

The older man doesn't waste much time preparing him with the lube he magicked out of nowhere - he doesn't even need much after Peter’s tongue and the regular use of the last few days since he’s been back from college - and then Peter’s pushing in, his thick cock punching a groan out of Stiles, even before the knot forms.

Peter is not gentle, and Stiles doesn't need him to, but he isn't aware of that lick of extra tension until he feels Peter’s dick swell in him; the stretch familiar but slightly painful even after all this time. It’s only when they are completely stuck together - and his mate is over that first wave of orgasm that makes him grunt like an actual animal - when Peter slides a hand down his chest to his stomach and pushes lightly at his lower belly that he feels it...

He really has to piss. The knot is pushing at his bladder on the inside and there’s no way he can make it to the bathroom like this. The mere thought that Peter planned all this; that he kept him drinking all night to make him full, and then got him in this utterly helpless position sends Stiles’s heart fluttering with adrenalin.

“Peter...” he’s voice is breathy, half from desperation, half from excitement and he can practically feel his mate’s smirk against the back of his neck as Peter pushes harder on his stomach.

“Yes, Sties? What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t beli...” He breaks off on a moan, because Peter abandoned his belly for taking his cock in his hand - it’s mostly soft from the pain of taking the knot - and is teasing his slit, making his whole body tingle with something between torture and pleasure. 

“I have to... I can’t...” He rarely loses his coherence, even during sex, but this is something else. He’s embarrassed and humiliated and so unbelievably turned on that there are just no words...

Peter straightens up behind him, the sweat on Stiles’s back suddenly cooling, and rolls his hips, making the knot nudge at his insides, and he can’t help it, he really can’t keep his dick from leaking a few drops of piss. He groans as Peter hums in encouragement, bringing his other hand to his stomach and _pushing_.

Stiles’s pretty sure he sobs a bit as he hears the first splash of urine hit the hardwood floor, but it’s all swallowed in the enormous wave of relief rolling over him; he collapses to his elbows as the pool of warm piss grows under him and his bladder empties itself. He might even black out for a second, because the next thing he knows, Peter is working his dick, his hand wet with his release and Stiles is getting hard so fast he feels dizzy with it.

“Oh my, look at that! What a nasty little bitch you are. No impulse control whatsoever... Just a cock in your ass and you’re already peeing everywhere. What a mess you made, Stiles, you can’t even be trusted not to wet yourself...”

And that’s it. That all it takes to push him over the edge; his vision whites out and he’s coming so hard it _hurts_ with Peter’s chuckling fading into the background of his consciousness…

* * *


	6. Group B (no warnings)

**21.**

The moment Stiles steps on the stage, Derek senses the anxiousness laced with a little fear. Not that the crowd can tell, but Stiles' heart is pounding and he's taking deep breaths while he waits for the music to start.

Derek moves away from his usual bouncer post near the bar at the back of the club. On a normal night, he keeps watch to make sure the rowdy customers at _Peter's Place_ , the local strip joint, don't harass Stiles too much. He's a friendly yet way too flirty bartender that never dances … until tonight. And only because he agreed to after nearly everyone -- regulars, friends, the usual strippers -- begged him to for the charity event being hosted.

Tonight, Derek gets closer to the stage, scowling when something stupid from the Top 40s starts playing. The smell of lust in the room grows as Stiles moves his hips to the beat. Catcalls begin to rise from the crowd, and excited screams erupt when Stiles playfully tugs at the zipper of his hoodie.

Derek's claws inch out. Digging them into his palm, the pain is a reminder to keep his calm. They had talked about this.

Stiles dances in a series of spastic yet impressive moves -- that one learned from Boyd, that one from Jackson, and that is definitely Danny's. It's an odd mix of styles, but with a flash of his boyish grin and increasingly bared skin, Stiles has them all lapping it up. He relaxes into the routine, flows with the music, feeding off the energy and excitement of the crowd.

Stiles laughs as they scream louder when he pulls off his tearaway pants. He turns and shakes his ass -- Derek knows it's solely for him.

There are twin paw prints painted in silver on the back of Stiles' red boxer briefs. 

Derek rolls his eyes but grins, feeling more comfortable with it. He only tenses again when Stiles does -- an excited young woman reaches over, tucking a bill into Stiles' briefs.

Stiles freezes, momentarily alarmed, but acts like he's done this a million times instead of never, sliding along and accepting more money. It _is_ the point but Derek still swallows back the urge to tear into someone, anyone, for touching Stiles.

When the song thumps its final beat, there's pure relief on Stiles' face. He laughs with the enthusiastic crowd, pulling bills out of his underwear, and dumps the money into the big bin at stage left with the rest of the donations. He waves one last time over his shoulder, disappearing backstage.

Derek immediately follows and finds Stiles alone in the very back office. 

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Stiles laughs breathlessly. "In front of all those people. Can't believe I actually -- _umph_."

Derek pushes him against the desk, takes Stiles' face between his hands, planting a hard kiss against his mouth. Stiles moans into it, relaxes like he hasn't since the start of that stupid song.

"Oh, yeah," he says, nipping at Derek's bottom lip, "you liked that."

"No," Derek says, "I really didn't," and shoves a hand into Stiles' boxers. Stiles' hips buck, reminding Derek of a particular dance move, and now that it's only for him, it's a complete turn-on.

Derek's teeth drag over Stiles' collarbones, and he tugs on his cock in the way that drives Stiles wild every time they're being fast and desperate while hiding in the back of the club. Stiles doesn't even wait to come before he's pulling out Derek's cock too, lining them up so that he can jerk them off together. Derek's palms rest on Stiles' rib cage, blunt nails digging in. They kiss, a crush of wet warm mouths.

Derek comes first, shooting all over Stiles' stomach. He slides his hand through the mess first, making the slip-slide of jerking Stiles off all the smoother. After Stiles comes in Derek's hand, Derek rubs their mixture together back over Stiles' stomach, his hips, wipes it off in the trail of hair between his navel and cock.

"Time to get back behind the bar," Derek says, smirking. "They're waiting for you."

"Yeah, smelling like come," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose even as he leaves it, pulling his shirt back over his head.

"Smelling like us."

Stiles freezes in spot, but a grin spreads across his face. "You," he says, "definitely deserve a private lap dance later."

Now _that_ was a Stiles dance Derek could deal with.

* * *

**22.**

Derek gapped, his jaw dropping involuntarily and a drawn out whimper was freed from his bruised lips. He was trembling slightly, his hands flexing in the fabric of the sheets on the bed beneath him. His legs were drawn up tightly to his chest, toes curling, muscles straining. He rocked his hips down pathetically, wanting more, desperate for it.

For Stiles.

Stiles watched Derek through darkened eyes, his vision sharp where Derek’s was blurred. He couldn’t help but feel powerful, strong, now that he had managed to reduce Derek, the alpha, to his shaking wreck; to a place where he was no long in control. Stiles smirked when Derek’s eyes flashed between red and hazel in quick succession. And all it took was one hand.

Teasingly, Stiles twisted his fist inside Derek, watching the stretch of his red rim, wet, as it clenched around him. Derek whined and tried to push down harder, to get Stiles in deeper. Stiles used his free hand to run soothing across Derek’s thighs, the dusting of dark hair standing up on end, as if trying to reach for the contact.

He made soothing noises. “That’s it Derek. It’s okay. You’re good – fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped out, not entirely believing that was his voice, “I can’t even – you’re just taking it. All of it. You’re so stretched.” He dipped his head to lick along the sore muscle, and Derek let out a sob, broken and pleading that only made Stiles’ break out into a grin. He licked it once more pointedly, before pulling away, rolling his knuckles and pressing firmly against the walls of his ass.

“Fuck, Stiles…” Derek cried out, his usual stoic attitude completely lost. He was too strung out, too wired to even think that this was a bad idea, to think about how vulnerable he was. All he knew was the wonderfulness of the stretch, the pain and pleasure – it was like nothing he had ever felt before - and the look on Stiles’ face that was stupidly beautiful, his pupils dilated and cheeks flushed and a determined look on his face. 

Stiles shushed him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he assured. He waited a moment, one long tense moment that had Derek wriggling and muttering complains at the lack of movement, before he, pointedly, thrust his fist forward – and Derek shouted out, back bowing off the bed at the unexpected action.

Stiles didn’t stop, his gaze was hunger as he took in every moment, loving the way Derek shook even more when Stiles pushed forward and how his cock twitched and leaked heavily onto his stomach on the withdraw. Fuck, it looked so good. Stiles wrapped his hand around his bare cock and rutted against the seal furiously. He stopped himself quickly, when he got too close. He wouldn’t come yet. No. Not until Derek had fallen to pieces around him.

He reluctantly moved his hand away from his cock and placed the hand firmly onto Derek’s thigh. Stiles then leant forward to lick roughly at the head of Derek’s cock, moaning at the tangy taste that seemed to explode across his already heightened senses. He cleaned Derek’s stomach greedily, loving the feeling of the muscles tensing beneath his tongue, and moved to suck pleasantly at Derek’s cock head. He looked up from his position and pointedly pushed firmly against Derek’s prostate. 

Stiles wanted Derek to cum, wanted to taste him, and he wasn’t disappointed. Derek came with a sob, voice hoarse, his body thoroughly ruined with shakes and red with pleasure and heat. Derek had never come so hard in his life. His vision went white, his ears rung and…he couldn’t even describe it. He just knew that it was the best thing he’d ever experienced. And it wasn’t because of the stretch or the fact he was finally at a point where he didn’t need to think, didn’t need to worry. No, it was because it was Stiles. His Stiles – brilliant and smart and someone he trusted to take care of him, to be in this vulnerable state around. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, and Derek watched through lidded eyes, far too sated to actually move, as Stiles jerked himself off furiously and came across Derek’s stomach. The man let out a low hum at the first hit of the warm cum and then seemed to bask in it. If he could move his hands, Stiles had no doubt he would rub it into his skin.

Stiles dropped onto the bed with a slight tremble to his hand and pressed himself firmly against Derek’s chest, arms draping over Derek’s shoulders and one hand, the one still wet with lube, reached up to run through Derek’s sweat soaked hair. Stiles dropped a kiss to the man’s swollen lips.

“Who said you wouldn’t like fisting?” Stiles joked out hoarsely, his grin full of satisfaction.

Derek stopped the smug expression that was beginning to form of his tired face by rearing up and stealing a kiss.

* * *

**23.**

By the time Stiles put the jeep into park, Derek was already waiting on the front porch of the rebuilt Hale house. “I didn’t know it was possible, man, but I think you’ve gotten even more muscly,” said Stiles as they made their way towards the house. He poked at Derek’s chest. “Yup, definitely muscle.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist and put it down. “How was the drive?” 

“Long. Boring. I contemplated putting you on speaker and jerking off to make it more interesting,” Stiles replied with a grin. 

Closing the door behind them, Stiles made his way towards the massive couch in the common area. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” Derek grunted.

Stiles sunk into the couch with a wince and started kicking off his left shoe, “Quick, go put a sock on the door before they get back!”

Before Stiles managed to remove his sock, Derek moved in front of him, flared his nostrils, and pushed Stiles back into the sofa. “You’re hurt,” said Derek as he started unzipping Stiles’ pants.

“Woah! Dude!” cried Stiles as he fought to keep his pants up. “It’s nothing!”

“If it’s nothing, then let me see,” Derek growled. 

“You’re going to rip them! That might be sexy if we were on stage in Magic Mike, but they have special pants for that. These are not my special pants. Not to say I have stripper pants. Oh god, don’t kill me if you don’t like what you see.” Derek opened up Stiles’ pants and pulled down the boxers. 

They’re both quiet as Derek traced his finger around the triskelion on Stiles’ hipbone that looked like a miniature version of the one on his back. 

“Just so we’re clear, I did it for myself. You said that it could represent different things, like family. There was a pretty fantastic ‘mom’ tattoo in the book, but I’m not sure I want to see that when I’m looking at my dick.”

Ignoring Stiles’ commentary, Derek asked, “Can I?” and slowly started tugging Stiles’ pants downward. 

Stiles nodded and lifted his hips so Derek could pull his pants and boxers down towards his knees. Derek hovered over the tattoo and his warm breath ghosted over the sensitized skin. Stiles gasped when a pink tongue traced over one of the swirls. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” whispered Stiles as he reached for his cock. 

The motion is halted when Derek repositioned Stiles’ hands on the couch. “Mine,” Derek said as he kissed his way across Stiles’ belly. He gave the cock in front of him a few tentative pumps before engulfing it. 

“Oh fuck!” exclaimed Stiles as he arched his hips off the couch. Derek held on to Stiles’ hips and continued the bobbing motions. “Oh god, Derek, I’m going to come. I’m going to come. Like really, embarrassingly soon.”

Derek pulled off, continued stroking Stiles though his orgasm and watched as come splattered onto Stiles’ shirt and coated his hand. He smeared the come from his hand on to the tattoo and rubbed it into the skin. 

The next thing they knew, the front door slammed open and the rest of the pack tumbled into the house. 

“Oh my god! Dude! House rule number three!” exclaimed Scott. 

Erica slinked her way across the room on to the couch, “That’s right. I always did like the idea of rule number three.” 

Derek threw Stiles over his shoulder to Stiles’ protests and silently dared anyone to call him out on rule number three before making a quick retreat into his bedroom. Stiles was being carried upstairs when the other heard his say, “I told you we should have put a sock on the door!”

* * *

**24.**

When she was little, Erica would wake up aching and cold on the crinkly paper-covered cot in the nurse’s office. Sometimes she was wearing somebody else’s pants, her underwear still warm and wet. 

Her mother would come and collect her, wrapping her up in soft arms, whispering _oh my sweet, oh my baby girl_ into her hair.

The walk to the car was always the worst. Erica tried to hide in her mother’s legs, but there was no escape.

Muddy-fingered and wide-eyed they’d push their faces up against the fence at the edge of the playground to stare. Somebody always giggled and then they were all laughing.

She never let herself cry until she was alone in her room with the covers pulled high up over her head, warm and dark and safe.

\--

She got worse. They had to put her on meds, now, hoping that maybe that would help. They didn’t work. 

They turned her body against her in new ways. She’d never thought about her skin before. Now it erupted and turned shiny red overnight. She gained weight all over her body, soft and smothering.

She looked in the mirror and saw a blank, round face, lonely and hopeless as the moon and she hated it. She wanted to claw her way out of the horrible, useless body she was caged in.

The laughter never faded. The evil echo of it mocked her in the hallway, followed her home, haunted her dreams. 

She would wake up in the hospital, not remembering but knowing they all watched the ambulance take her away. 

\--

Trying to climb the wall again had been idiotic. She knew that. She knew her mother didn’t understand why she did it, didn’t understand that she couldn’t stand all the anger and misery trapped inside her. The wall was just there, a huge metaphor for her failure. She’d make it this time or die trying.

Waking up had been another sour disappointment in a life full of bitterness.

But this time Derek was there. Eyes flashing, literally flashing, and one hand outstretched, reaching for Erica. 

\--

And it was worth it, to wake up on strange sheets and not immediately be ashamed, not be scared. Trade one kind of freak for another.

She wiggles backwards, slipping easily into the warm pocket defined by his body.

“Mmmm.” The buzz against the back of her neck skips like static down her spine.

“Morning, lover.” He smiles against her skin and presses a hot kiss there.

“Morning, lovely,” he says and slips an arm around to her to pull her close. His fingers slide down and find her clit.

He’s hard against her back, the head drags against her skin when he shifts, not impatient, just warm and wanting. It’s suddenly not enough. She pushes back against him, makes him laugh.

He braces one wide hand across her ribcage, pulling her leg up with his other hand. His hips shift, dragging his dick across her, teasing, and he slips in on one long slide.

Light spills across the tangled sheets, prelude to another beautiful day, and Boyd kisses sweet and gentle across her shoulder. The sudden joy comes from nowhere and fills her skin until she can’t breathe. 

“Erica?” He pulls back and she can’t stand it. She twists around and kisses him.

“I love you. God, I love you.” His face relaxes and he rubs their cheeks together.

“I love you too.” They breathe for a moment until Boyd hitches forward, just a little, pressing down with his fingers.

Their rhythm builds, slow and easy. Boyd keeps her tight against his chest, pushing in with long, sweet rolls of his hips.

She traces her fingers over the base of his dick, where he’s moving in her, stretching her wide. He groans and his hips snap forward, greedy.She stretches her legs wider, lets him hold the weight of her lifted leg. The stretch of it, the wantonness, is too much. Her fingers work frantically, matching Boyd, the way he pushes into her. 

She slips over the edge without meaning to, gasping into the pillow and tightening deliciously around Boyd still inside her. He bites down hard on her neck and flexes against her once more before relaxing with a sigh.

The sunlight is warm where it falls across her shoulder and Boyd is still tracing his fingers along the thin skin of her belly, chasing out the little aftershocks that tingle through her. 

\--

It was worth it.

* * *

**25.**

They have sex. It's good sex.

Good, healthy, normal sex.

He always watches Lydia get dressed afterwards without moving from his spot on the bed. Sometimes he feels like he should be melancholy about how quickly she leaves, like he isn't important to her at all, but it's not like he wouldn't be the same way if they were at her apartment.

They're just not like that. Doesn't mean it doesn't sting, though.

"Jackson, stop pouting," she says, not taking her eyes off the mirror where she's brushing something across her cheeks.

"Whatever," he says, and gets up to make a sandwich.

It's just sex. It's good sex.

She kisses him hard one night, right after she's finished doing herself up. Her lips are bright red, predatory, and she pushes him down on the bed, kissing him into the sheets with a hand fisted in his hair. He's still naked but she makes him hot, uncomfortable.

When she pulls away, Jackson knows she's left a smear from the way she eyes his mouth. He licks his lips.

"Hmm," she says, and opens her bag for her compact and the shade du jour.

She starts reapplying her color right there on top of him. She's straddling him, and she's _right there_. On top of his dick, not even looking at him. Her mouth opens wide, the color a slick, vivid glide over her bottom lip, and he groans.

She presses her lips together, slides them around. "Impatient?" she asks.

"Fuck," he says, and reaches for her waist. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, so he drops his hands—but bares his teeth. He's not a pushover.

Lydia arches an eyebrow and adds another swipe of color before dropping her things back into her bag. She leans down to just look at him, then, appraising. She catches his chin and turns his face gently, this way and that. In an instant he realizes he's well on his way to impossibly hard—would rock up into her, almost does, but her nails bite into his jaw pointedly until he grunts and goes limp again.

Whatever she sees she seems to like it, because she smiles, like a tiny, red-lipped devil. Jackson tries leaning up to kiss her but her grip is firm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks.

"I just—" he says, frustrated, but she pushes him back down.

It's because she's evening fresh, flawless. If he kissed her right now, he'd ruin her.

He still wants to kiss her. A small part of him wants desperately to ruin her.

"Another day," she says.

He licks his lips again once she's left. When he looks in the mirror, his mouth is bright red, like a wound.

Another day comes and she pushes him straight onto the floor, gets on top of him as soon as she's slid out of her shoes. There's nothing under her skirt but skin, so he slips his fingers there and touches, just as she wants him to.

He knows just from looking at her face that she can tell. When she smiles it's slow, almost hungry, like he's handed her something magnificent.

"The red was a good look for you, but I want to try something else," Lydia says, and pulls out a little pot in a different color. "Here."

This one she has to put on with her fingertips, rubbing lazily along his lips. He presses his thumb inside her as she slicks it on him, but she doesn't twitch once.

Here, as ever, she's in total control. He closes his eyes as she coaxes his lips apart.

"That's better," she says when she's finished with him. "This color looks great on you." She smears the leftover under his eyes like war paint.

"Fuck you," he says.

"Don't mind if I do," she says. She drops the pot back into her purse and pulls out a condom, and he thinks, _god_.

It is absolutely not their usual healthy, normal sex. He's frantic and she's worse, holding down his shoulders and slamming herself onto his cock until he's gasping. She seems to change her mind then, kissing him furiously, as messy as she can get it. He rolls her over and _fucks_ her, tongue still in her mouth, and when he pulls away he sees the color she's put on him is dark and rich, like a bruise.

He _feels_ bruised. She's marked him down somewhere deep.

"Don't stop," she orders, clinging to him, and he doesn't.

He won't.

* * *

**26.**

It was only afterwards, when the sweat and the cum had been wiped away and they lay on Derek’s mattress side by side, arms brushing, that Stiles found his panic rising. He swallowed and furiously willed away the tears prickling his eyes. He could do this. “I lied, Derek.”

“I know.” Derek didn’t move, didn’t turn towards him, or away from him. 

“This wasn’t really my first time.” Stiles voice sounded closed off, even to himself. Derek was silent, letting him speak, so he dragged a deep breath in, and continued. “I know I said it was, when I asked you to do this for me.”

He swallowed. “There was this thing that happened. Before I left, before I went away to school…” He glanced at the man beside him. “I wasn’t running out on you. Or the pack. I just – I couldn’t deal with it. You probably thought - but it wasn’t about the wolf stuff. Not really.”

Derek rolled to face him. “You could have said you were going, Stiles. Eight fucking months.” His voice wasn’t angry, just gentle, and sad. “I.. the whole pack was devastated. You destroyed Scott. He shouldn’t have had to find out from your Dad after you’d gone.”

“Yeah, well maybe he’d have known, if he wasn’t so caught up in his own fucking after-school special all summer long.” Stiles tried to tamp down on the anger, but it crested in him, like water threatening to burst through a dam. “He knew I’d applied for my qualifying year. But he had patrols to run, stupid wolf wars to strategize – you were all so wrapped up in your little wolf world… I went through HELL for your pack, and you didn’t even fucking notice!” He’d promised himself he wouldn’t lose it. Stiles scrabbled for his balled up t-shirt to scrub the snot and tears from his face.

“I was just so fucking pissed at you guys. At everything. Everything was just spiralling out of control. My fucking life.” Stiles sat up, clutching the sheet to his chest. “Nightmare after fucking nightmare. We almost drowned, Derek! I watched my Dad’s friends get gunned down and ripped apart. And Gerard… the hunters… what they did to me, in Allison’s basement…” Stiles broke down, sitting up in the bed and wrapping his arms around his knees, sobs breaking free. “I had no-one, Derek! No-one to tell. Scott was too distracted, the pack was busy. Melissa got me treatment, drove me to the next county for stitches. I had to beg her not to tell my dad, so your whole stupid wolf thing wouldn’t come out.”

Derek’s arms were around him now, and Stiles could feel wetness as he lay his cheek against Stile’s shoulder. His voice was almost a whisper. “I knew.”

Stiles tried to pull away, to turn, but Derek tightened his arms around him. “I’m so fucking sorry, Stiles. I knew. I could smell the bleeding, the semen… But you didn’t say anything – were so fucking strong. I don’t know why – I wanted to respect your privacy. I knew what it felt like – maybe not rape, but the feeling of being used, of being utterly helpless, no control over anything that was happening to you. I knew that shame, and I just – I couldn’t call you on it. I wanted to give you that.”

“I didn’t want privacy, Derek.” Stiles wanted to scream. “I wanted my pack. I needed you to just – read my mind or something. I don’t know. I needed to be cared for. Not fucking ignored, as if your huge werewolf drama was more important than anything I went through.”

“So you left. I - get that. But you came back?”

“Well, yeah. I wanted this.” Stiles twisted to face him, gesturing between them. “For the first time in my life, I could be in control of something. I refused to cut myself off from sex and love, because... I’m not letting those fuckers take that from me. I’m not broken.

“I decided to make my own first time. Even if it wasn’t my first sex – it was my first time CHOOSING. My first time being in control of what I want. So – thank you.”

“You knew I’d say yes.” Derek said softly.

Stiles moved to climb onto Derek’s lap, pulling him close until their foreheads pressed together. “Yeah, I knew. Knew when I was ready, you’d be here waiting.” He ground forward, lips and cocks pressing together with utter certainty.

* * *

**27.**

“This is really stupid,” Scott said, right before Derek shoved a rag into his mouth and put tape over it, grinning like the asshole he was. Scott’s arms weren’t tied up, and he could probably at least wipe that smile off Derek’s face but that would defeat the purpose.

Derek straightened up and stepped behind the chair, picking up the heavy chains he’d left there earlier. Scott’s arms were grabbed and twisted backwards, behind the chair back as Derek began looping the chain through and around.

He had to try. With the alpha pack quickly approaching, they needed to act as one unit, all of them. He closed his eyes and let the quiet snicks and clangs of the chain, and Derek still wrapping it around and around, calm him down. He didn’t fully know what Derek had planned, but he could do this, could fake the trust Derek needed from him, had done it before; all to protect his loved ones.

Scott didn’t realize Derek was finished until his head was jerked back hard by his hair. He looked up into Derek’s glowing red eyes, his wolf face. 

“It begins now,” he said before licking, _actually licking_ the side of Scott’s face. Scott tried to move and turn away, struggling against the chains, but they held firm. The gag in his mouth dried out all his saliva and kept him from making any sound that didn’t come out like a whimper.

He couldn’t move beyond thrashing his shoulders and shaking his head. Derek’s hand in his hair tightened, putting a stop to any other move Scott might’ve made. “You will obey me as your alpha, Scott. Do you understand?” Scott closed his eyes and nodded as much as he could. He was powerless. 

“Good boy.” 

Scott’s eyes opened, he could feel his claws extending, rage rushing through him in waves. 

Derek laughed. “It’s just obedience training. Relax, Scott, you might even enjoy it.” He smirked again, then quickly leaned in and licked the other side of Scott’s face, then proceeded to lap at his neck, saliva dripping down to Scott’s shoulder. 

Scott couldn’t repress a shudder. It was nasty. Maybe if it was something Allison did, he might not mind, but being covered in Derek’s saliva and scent all over? Gross. 

Oh. _Oh._

Derek was marking him, of course he was, in the most disgusting way possible, licking and sucking and leaving marks all over Scott’s body. Scott was going to kill him. 

“Still fighting?” Derek asked from right next to his ear, and his hot breath against the damp skin there made Scott shiver. Scott tried to push him away, but that only earned him a hard bite to the neck. It would definitely leave a mark.

“Since you insist on doing this the hard way, pun not intended,” Derek said before Scott felt his boot press down forcefully on his boner, that Scott shamefully hadn’t realized he’d sprung, “I’ll move on to the next part.”  
He stepped back from Scott and undid his belt buckle, then slid his jeans down, just low enough to pull out his cock, still flaccid. Scott could feel his face heat with shame, and he shut his eyes again.

“Keep them open.” 

Scott obeyed, opening his eyes just in time to watch as Derek walked closer, cock in hand, practically straddling him, then aimed at his chest. Scott could smell the urine before it streamed out of Derek’s cock and onto his lacrosse jersey, down to his shorts. It seeped through quickly, damp and tepid in seconds. Scott had never felt more humiliated in his life. Nor more aroused, if his cock, now soaked with Derek’s piss, and hard, was anything to go by. 

Derek tucked himself in then stomped his foot back on Scott’s dick and leaned close.

“Knew this would get you hot, Scott, all that fighting’s just a front, isn’t it? You’re like a stray dog, looking to belong.” The boot pressed down harder and tears streamed down Scott’s face, snot clogged up his nose, the rag in his mouth made it hard to breathe.  
Derek lapped up a stray tear and licked to Scott’s ear. “You want to come, Scott? You’ll do it like this, admitting you belong to me now.” Derek moved his foot against Scott’s cock once more, and with a sob that shook his body and the chair, Scott came.

Derek walked away, “I’ll be back in 2 hours. Oh, and welcome to the pack.”

* * *

**28.**

First Time for Everything

The first time Stiles told him that there was nothing going on between him and Derek Hale, the sheriff was almost inclined to believe him. 

Almost.

But Sheriff Stilinski has seventeen years of experience being the boy’s father. And despite his son’s lack of faith in his abilities sometimes, the sheriff is very good at his job. He notices things, for one. Like the way Stiles looks at Derek. And the way _Derek_ looks at _Stiles_. And he is pretty good at reading people too. (Like he knew Derek Hale was innocent after ten minutes of questioning him about those murders, even though Derek had provided what could only be called ‘grunts’ to the sheriff’s questions.) 

Anyway he doesn’t need his superior sleuthing skills to know that Stiles’ version of The Truth is often a murky one. Still, nothing really could have prepared him for the scene that greets him when he comes home from work early and checks in on his only son, fully expecting Stiles to be doing homework, but instead finds him...

...on his hands and knees on his bed, completely naked, Derek Hale (also naked, for the record) behind him, his dick shoved balls deep into Stiles. 

The sheriff knows it’s not polite to stare but can anyone really blame him? (And, wow, the scene before him suddenly calls to mind their neighbour’s miniature poodles, which he once had the misfortune to come across in the side yard – butts stuck together.) The sheriff allows a shudder and quickly shakes the image from his mind, peripherally aware of his son saying to Derek, “How much longer you gonna be stuck in me? My dad’s gonna be home soon.” 

Stiles then catches him with a glance, still paused in the doorway, stuck in gawker mode. Which is something the sheriff knows about. He’s been the Sheriff of Beacon Hills for the past ten years and has seen his share of car wrecks and he knows exactly how strong the human need is to gawk. 

“ _Oh_ my God,” Stiles expresses then directs a “ _Seriously?_ ”over his shoulder at Derek, which sounds rather accusatory to the sheriff, frankly.

He snaps out of his trance and pulls the door quickly closed, then bolts for the stairway.

Yeah. This is definitely the last time he spontaneously checks in on Stiles without giving plenty of advanced warning. 

Fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the living room, his son and Derek before him, looking about as embarrassed and as guilty as they could possibly be.

The only reason the sheriff thinks he can look Stiles in the eye is that he’s pretty sure his retinas suffered serious damage in the aftermath of witnessing his son and Derek Hale _in flagrante_. He is only vaguely aware of Stiles babbling out some explanation that includes words he is sure he is mishearing. 

The sheriff blinks. Now, he’d like to think he’s a fairly liberal-minded dad, but forgive him if he needs a moment to work through hearing words that sounded like ‘werewolf’, ‘mate’ and...did Stiles say ‘ _knotting_ ’? (And, yeah, here comes the image of Mrs. Shultz’s poodles again.) 

“So...mate?” the sheriff hedges, looking from Stiles to Derek then back to Stiles again.

Stiles nods.

“And, um, knotting?” The sheriff doesn’t even stutter on the word, and really he should be given a freaking medal for that.

A pink blush creeps over Stiles’ cheeks.

The sheriff now looks at Derek. “ _Werewolf_?”

Derek shrugs in affirmation.

“Okay, then,” the sheriff says, doing his best to come to terms with the incredibly bizarre explanation his son has just given him for the retina-scorching event he’d been privy to witness. His breathes out a sigh that is long-suffering and fixes both boys with a look. “Well. So long as you’re being _safe_ while doing whatever it is that a werewolf does with his mate (he refuses to say ‘knotting’ again and vows to wipe that word from his vocabulary, although he never thought he’d use the words ‘werewolf’ and ‘mate’ in a sentence either so this is new) then I see absolutely no reason why we should ever have to speak of this again. Agreed?”

Derek gives him a sharp nod. Stiles gapes at him. 

Wow. This just might be the first time the sheriff has ever seen his son rendered speechless. So, yeah, he’s going to revel in that.

* * *

**29.**

It’s halfway through the evening before Danny even realizes what’s going on.

*

It’s Friday, which means they have lacrosse until five, after which Jackson pushes Danny back against the lockers and gives him the best blowjob in his admittedly-not-that-huge experience. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Danny groans, fingers tightening in Jackson’s hair. “I’m gonna - ”

Jackson pulls off, but not away, his hair brushing Danny’s hipbone as he jacks him, and when he mouths a little at the head of Danny’s dick, he promptly comes, mostly on Jackson’s face. Fuck.

After he’s gotten Jackson off, and they’re both regaining their breath, Jackson huffs.

“I’m bored, let’s do something tonight.”

“Mmkay,” is the best Danny can offer because hello, he just gave Jackson a facial, he’s gonna need more than five minutes to recover. “Call of Duty?” he suggests a moment later.

Jackson shrugs. “I’m don’t want to sit around at home.” He stands and pulls Danny up after him. “I’ll pick you up.”

He kisses Danny and leaves, a little more hurriedly than normal. 

*

Jackson picks him up just after seven. Rather than sitting outside his house and beeping like the rude person he is, Jackson actually comes to the door, says hi to Danny’s parents, and looks at Danny for a little longer than he normally would before saying, “Ready to go?”

They wind up at a restaurant downtown, a little nicer than anywhere they’d usually eat. But Jackson’s like this sometimes, still acting like he has something (god knows what) to prove (to god knows who), so Danny doesn’t comment.

“Let’s eat,” Jackson says, leaping out of the car without waiting for a response. 

In retrospect, Jackson holding the door open for him should have tipped him off. 

Dinner is nice, and everything is normal, and it isn’t until there’s a lull in the conversation (well, argument, because Jackson _still_ won’t turn in front of Danny, he’s still weird and cagey about the whole werewolf thing like he thinks Danny’s going to have a six-month-delayed freakout) and Jackson brushes his foot against Danny’s under the table and smiles at him that Danny gets it.

It’s not like Jackson never smiles at him, but this one is different. Danny recognises this one - it’s the way Jackson used to look at Lydia when he thought no one, _especially_ Lydia, was looking.

“This is a date,” he says slowly, unable to help the burst of affection in his chest. Jackson rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. “Jesus Christ, Jackson, you didn’t wanna mention it?” 

Jackson shrugs. “Whatever, man, it’s not a big deal.”

Except it sorta is, because they haven’t really talked about what they’re doing, even though neither of them are with anyone else, and this is definitely _some_ kind of declaration.

“You’re an asshole,” he says.

“You love it,” Jackson replies, his pretty mouth twisting in a familiar smirk. The awful thing is, Danny kind of does.

*

“If I’d known this would happen if I took you out, I’d have done it sooner,” Jackson pants into Danny’s pillow, way too eloquently for what Danny’s doing to him. Danny twists his fingers a little harder and Jackson groans. Better. 

They’ve only done _this_ a couple of times, but Danny loves the way Jackson get worked up enough to forget himself, to push back into it, to beg.

He takes his time, fucking Jackson open with his fingers, letting him moan and pant and curse, demanding Danny fuck him _now_ goddammit, or he’ll find someone else to do it properly.

Danny snorts as he rolls on the condom. “Sure you will,” he says drily, pushing in in one long slide before Jackson can retort. He gets a gratifying moan in response. 

He’s not gonna last long, but he’d be more embarrassed about it if Jackson weren’t already totally gone, hand stroking his dick furiously, obscenities mixed with Danny’s name falling from his lips. 

After Danny’s cleaned them up (Jackson is always completely useless after sex), he climbs back into bed and pokes and prods Jackson until they’re both comfortable.

“Your turn next time,” Jackson mumbles.

“To take you out? I’m a way better date than you, man, are you sure you can stand to be shown up?”

Jackson snorts. “If it’s that great, maybe I’ll even put out,” he says, like he wasn’t basically begging for Danny’s dick like fifteen minutes ago. 

“Go to sleep,” Danny tells him.

Jackson, for once, obeys.

* * *

**30.**

The first time, Stiles doesn’t think twice about it. 

He just wants contact with another person, and Scott is right there, watching the exact same dumb movie in an attempt to reignite the bromance after the epic breakup of Scott and Allison’s epic romance. 

There is nothing like pointless explosions to sooth heartache. 

But, back to Stiles, who is craving some comfort of his own, thank you very much. So he just sort of rolls until he can cuddle into Scott’s side. It’s just warmth and an opportunity to be close to someone. Scott sort of squirms around until he’s comfortable, but then he goes back to watching robots swing from buildings in New York.

It’s a few minutes later that Stiles realizes he’s nuzzling into the curve of Scott’s shoulder blade. It feels...natural.

There’s a rumbling in the back of his throat that might grow up to be a purr someday, and it’s the closest he can get to voicing how good this feels. 

Maybe it’s the noise, or the way Stiles’ hands have rolled up tight underneath Stiles’ chest, but Scott stills for a moment. Then he rolls over onto his back slowly. 

Scott’s hands graze Stiles’ sides as he slowly moves to hold Stiles steady. Stiles hides his head in Scott’s neck, but it’s hard to keep himself from peeking to see what Scott’s expression holds. Scott blinks up at Stiles, but his gaze is steady and unflinching beneath his eyelashes. 

“What is it?” Scott asks with a smile on the curl of his lips. 

Stiles isn't sure how to explain. The right words aren't in his head right now. He's more caught up in simple pleasures: warmth and skin and companionship and breath. He whines at the intrusion of a question in this calm space. 

Then he licks across Scott's chin in apology. 

They both freeze. Stiles goes to pull back, to turn away, but Scott's hands hold him firmly in place. It’s-this isn’t supposed to be complicated. Stiles whines and pulls as far away as Scott will let him go. 

Scott breathes deeply, chest rising to bring them back to alignment. Stiles is sure Scott can hear how fast his heart is beating. 

“Stiles,” Scott says quietly, something almost beseeching in his tone. His eyes are dark, barely a ring of gold around the pupil. “It’s not a werewolf thing.”  
Stiles shakes his head mutely, and hides his face back in Scott’s chest. 

“No,” Scott says wonderingly. “This is something else.”

Scott’s hands run up his spine to rub across Stiles’ still close-shaved scalp. It feels so damned good that Stiles catches himself arching up into the pressure subconsciously. That low rumble in his throat starts again. Stiles opens his eyes from where they’d slid shut and there he is. It seems the most natural thing in the world to lick into his mouth, panting after everything   
Scott would give him. 

Scott moans into the kiss, and it’s different this time around. Oh, they’ve fooled around, kissed a time or two for practice, pulling disgusted faces afterwards, and synchronously spitting into the surrounding dirt. The little kid kind of kissing that doesn’t count for anything.

Only it’s counting now, because Stiles mouth seems to intimately remember Scott’s mouth, the heat and the warmth of it. The kiss is sloppy with too much tongue and enthusiasm on Stiles’ part, but that somehow makes it better. 

Stiles needs gently at Scott’s chest and he ruts without thought against the weight of Scott’s thigh between his own, but it’s not with the intent to get off necessarily. For all that the air between them sparks with possibility, tonight isn’t the right time for that, not when Stiles can’t explain, no matter how understanding Scott is. 

So, instead, Scott keeps running his hands over Stiles’ hair, and Stiles nuzzles closer, breathing in the smell of skin and Scott and something sharper. 

“Good boy,” Scott whispers, and it’s enough.

* * *

**31.**

****

The Wolf Bone

The first time Deaton gives Stiles a magical artifact he tells Stiles it’s drained of magic and useless.

“Thanks.” Stiles shrugs and pockets the finger-length wolf bone.

*

“Catch!” Stiles tosses the powerless bone into Derek’s lap. “You know anything about this?”

Derek sniffs it. “It’s wolf.” He frowns. “It’s warm.”

“Really?” Stiles takes it back, eyes widening as he feels the heat. “Wasn’t doing that earlier.” He strokes the smooth white of the bone’s polished surface and grins as it trembles beneath his touch.

“Fascinating,” Derek says straight-faced and unimpressed as he suddenly stands and ushers Stiles out the door. “Stop by again sometime. This had been enlightening.”

Gaping at the slammed door and the snick of the deadbolt, Stiles shouts, “Rude!” But hey, he’s got a magic wolf bone! Rudeness cannot ruin his mood. He strokes it again and feels the unmistakable vibration in his palm. Cool.

Something crashes on the other side of the door. He ignores it and walks away.

*

He’s a bit addicted to touching his bone. He’s not ashamed to admit it. He keeps it in his pocket all day at school and rubs his thumb up and down the length of it. He’s discreet about it. It’s no worse than when he’d gotten into the habit of clicking his pen.

At least this won’t end with Jackson threatening to shove his pen up his ass if he didn’t stop.

This is awesome because no one even knows he’s doing it.

*

Derek looks like shit.

“You look like shit, dude,” Stiles says after his heart’s calmed from finding Derek sitting on his bed, waiting for him to get home from school.

The room smells kind of funky so Stiles opens the window a bit wider. Maybe he should empty his trash -- there’s a week’s worth of _well-used_ Kleenex in there. No wonder Derek’s looking at him funny.

“Do you remember that wolf bone you showed me yesterday?” Derek’s lips press tight as he waits for an answer.

Stiles reaches into his pocket, proudly showing off the awesomeness that is his very first _magical object_. “Yeah, it’s enchanted I think.” He swipes his hand over it just to make sure it’s still working.

Derek shifts awkwardly on his bed, his expression unreadable. “You have to stop touching it,” he grits out.

Stiles laughs. “What? Why? It doesn’t even really do anything.” He rolls it between his palms and the thing practically _sings_.

“Stiles!” Derek makes a noise like a strangled gasp.

“What’s going on with you, man?” Derek is a serious mess; he’s sweating and flushed, and also looks ready to kill Stiles.

“Put. That. Thing. Down.”

Stiles blinks at Derek, who is sitting awkwardly now the Stiles pays closer attention, and Derek’s got his arm blocking his crotch the way Scott spent most of his time between the ages of thirteen and fourteen.

“Stop touching it,” Derek says, wincing in time with the finger Stiles is absently tapping against the bone.

Stiles tilts his head, letting all the information come together. “I think I know what this does now.”

“Aren’t you a genius?” The muscles in Derek’s jaw spasm.

He’s never seen Derek embarrassed before but he guesses that explains, at least partially, the pink of his cheeks and the way he won’t quite meet Stiles’ eyes. “I was touching this all day.”

“I _know._ ”

“And you were in here, weren’t you? Feeling every single stroke.” He looks at his trash again, realizing it hadn’t been quite so full this morning. “Were you thinking of me?”

“Stiles.” It comes out more of a growl than a name. Stiles takes that as a yes.

Stiles smirks, raises the bone to his mouth and _licks_.

Derek’s eyes snap to his; Stiles thinks he’s about to be pounced on, devoured. He swipes his tongue from the base to the tip before sucking the whole bone into his mouth, and sees the instant Derek loses it. It’s better than any porn -- ridiculously hot given that they are both completely dressed and not even touching each other.

Derek trembles and cries out. His eyes squeeze shut and his claws slice through Stiles’ covers.

It’s seriously the best fucking thing.

Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek’s post-orgasm face to look down at the vibrating bone in his hand. “Awesome.”

* * *

**32.**

**Hair**

Stiles had no idea how he'd come to associate Derek with Lady Gaga. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with having the new album on repeat while he studied werewolf business. Whatever, now whenever he heard Lady Gaga's 'Hair', his first thought was Derek Hale.

The song was totally inappropriate, as far as he knew. As far as he knew, Derek's parents hadn't punished him with haircuts, and Derek's ambition was probably not to live as free as his hair, judging by the amount of gel he put on it (and yes, Stiles got that it was a metaphor, but this was Derek Hale!).

The one similarity might have been that he wanted to be loved for who he was, but then Derek didn't really seem to want to be loved. He didn't seem to give a shit what anyone thought about him, not even his pack. Isaac seemed to like him well enough, but Stiles suspected that after Isaac's dad, anyone was a step up.

The idea of Derek made him chuckle whenever he heard the song, mostly because he loved the idea of Derek with red highlights and had a lovely time picturing what the red highlights would look like in the Alpha form.

He didn't hear the song that often once the novelty of the new album wore off, so he didn't realise that this train of thought meant that he was just occasionally thinking about Derek with something approaching affection. Not often, but clearly just enough. He had noticed Scott giving him some funny looks, and he'd also noticed that both Isaac and Derek seemed to be being a bit…well, Isaac seemed to be nicer occasionally and Derek kept…staring at him. Not the same sort of death-glare that Stiles was used to receiving, but a more contemplative expression, with a fair side order of puzzled. Stiles took to giving him detailed updates about everywhere he'd been during the day in the hope that that would stop the staring, but it didn't seem to work – if anything, Derek seemed to stare more.

Everything suddenly became clear when he was driving Derek back to his apartment after a truly disastrous encounter with a ghoul. Derek sat slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed, and Stiles flipped on the radio because he just couldn't handle the thought of sitting in silence for another four blocks. He didn't recognise the first song, but the second song that played was 'Hair.' Stiles felt himself smile involuntarily, a huge grin of amusement and affection, and because he was right there, he turned and directed the full force of that smile at Derek.

"Pull over," Derek said in a low voice.

"You can't be going to barf, you're already healed!" said Stiles.

"I said, pull over," Derek growled, and Stiles pulled over to the side of the road with a scowl. He was expecting Derek to reach for the door handle. He absolutely was not expecting Derek to reach out towards him, fist one hand in his shirt and draw him in for an absolutely amazing kiss. The angle wasn't the greatest at first, but when Stiles managed to take his hands off the wheel and get them on Derek, things improved considerably. Derek's hands were hot against his skin and Stiles slid one hand up to tangle in Derek's hair. 

Both of them were breathing heavily when they finally pulled apart.

"Woah, what brought that on?" Stiles asked, because he could never miss the opportunity to put his foot in his mouth. "Not that I'm not completely on board with doing that again, perhaps somewhere slightly more comfortable," he backpedalled hastily. "Just…" he waved a hand vaguely between them.

"You smelt good," Derek said, after a moment. Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek winced. "You smelt all…and then you smiled at me," he said. "Obviously I was going to kiss you!"

"Oh my god!" Stiles said, beginning to laugh. "Derek, I was thinking about you singing that stupid song!"

Derek stared at him., seemingly waiting for him to stop laughing.

"You are totally ridiculous," he said, when Stiles showed no signs of stopping soon. "That song is now banned."

"If it'll get me more kissing, I can live with that," Stiles said, so that was the first and last time he listened to that song with Derek in the room. (He listened to it occasionally when Derek wasn't there, but Derek pretended not to know.)

* * *

**33.**

The last time he’d been in this alley there’d been a car, a werewolf, and gun fire. This time there was just him.

Chris kicked a can and watched it bounce from the bin to the wall, then splash in a puddle. He didn’t know what he expected; he _knew_ he shouldn’t be here, not with the alpha pack roaming the streets, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Allison was still not talking to him, his father’s betrayal still burned, and everything felt _off_.

“I thought Little Red Riding Hood got lost in the woods, not darkened alleys.”

“I thought wolves were big and bad,” Chris retorted, and turned as Peter stepped out from the shadows.

“Is that any way to speak to the only werewolf in Beacon Hills who isn’t trying to kill you?”

He took a step forward before he could stop himself. “McCall’s been hanging around my house and he hasn’t tried to kill me.”

“Of course, the beta desperate to be a packless alpha. Do you want me to call him?” Peter raised an eyebrow and mimed a howl then grinned when Chris rolled his eyes. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re following me, Hale?”

“No,” Peter took step closer and ran his fingers along the line of buttons on Chris’s shirt, then looked up. “You should, however, be concerned that you didn’t hear me walk up.”

“Maybe I did.” He grabbed Peter’s wrist and stilled it. 

“Ah,” Peter tapped a finger to Chris’s chest, “Lie.”

“What do you want, Peter?” Chris took a step back and felt his back pressed against the wall. When had they moved backwards?

“What does any man really want, Chris?” Peter pulled him forward by his belt loops, turned him, and slammed him against the wall. Chris reached his hands out and cursed when the brick cut dug into his skin, then stilled when Peter whispered, “A fucking good release.”

“So it’s going to be like that?” he ground out and immediately leaned into the heat when Peter stepped closer behind him and braced his hands on either side of Chris’s body.

“It’s going to be however I want it,” Peter whispered against Chris’s ear. He moved one hand to the button on Chris’s jeans and slid it open. “So spread your legs, Argent, and shut your mouth.”

When Chris opened his mouth Peter pushed him up against the wall, moved his hand from the top of Chris’s jeans down to the growing bulge and squeezed. “And don’t ruin it by talking.”

Chris pushed back, slid his hand from the wall to Peter’s and ground up. He kept silent. Peter grinned into his neck and kicked Chris’s farther legs apart, then he slid open the V of Chris’s jeans and quickly pulled his jeans and boxers down in one movement.

“Let’s see what a hunter’s mouth can do,” Peter raised his palm to Chris’s mouth and pressed his cheek against Chris’s face. Wordlessly Chris licked a strip along Peter’s palm and Peter watched each swipe of his tongue. Once, twice, then again. 

He kissed Chris’s cheek, whispered how good he was, and lowered his hand to Chris’s cock and squeezed as he pulled up, his knuckles brushing Chris’s balls. When Chris groaned, he slowly starting moving his hand and breathing filthy promises against Chris’s neck. 

Peter moved his other hand under Chris’s shirt, elongated nails trailing up Chris’s stomach and chest. He heard Chris gasp when he drew blood, felt Chris’s hand tighten where it had gripped Peter’s hand, felt him try to speed Peter’s hand. Chris push back against him, pushed until he was flush front to back, then forward into Peter's slicked, wicked hand. 

“Not yet,” Peter taunted and slowed his hand. He tightened his grip and twisted on the next pull up. He ground his jean-clad cock against Chris’s ass, pushed until Chris's cock brushed the wall. “Not yet.”

Chris clawed one hand against the brick and whimpered, he dug his nails into Peter’s hand and fell against him as Peter sped up, as he began to jerk Chris in quick twists. 

"Now," Peter growled. Chris gasped, jerked as his orgasm raked through him. 

Spent, Chris turned and relaxed against the wall, pulled Peter close. He kissed him, biting Peter’s lip when he pulled back. Then slid down the wall to his knees with his eyes locked on Peter’s, kept them locked when he pulled Peter’s jeans open, “However you want it.”

* * *

**34.**

**Derek's First (and Last) Trip to IKEA**

“I can't believe you've never done this before,” Stiles said for the fourth time. 

“And I'm not going to if you say that again.”

“It's just. It's IKEA, dude. They have meatballs. And lingonberry soda.”

“I'm aware.”

Stiles lead Derek through the automatic doors, spreading his arms and breathing deeply. 

“Ah! I love the smell of particle board in the morning.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the twitch of his lips betrayed his fondness. When Stiles had stumbled into the kitchen that morning and announced, “We're going to IKEA. I refuse to wake up in pain again that wasn't inflicted by serious boning,” Isaac choked on his cereal while Derek froze, hoping Stiles was using a generic “we.”

When Stiles added that they'd also be shopping for a couch that hadn't been taken from behind a dumpster, Isaac bolted out of the room. The coward.

Unable to resist Stiles regarding, well, anything, Derek found himself an hour later walking into an IKEA for the first time. He didn't know what to expect exactly, but the massive warehouse and fake rooms set up in a ridiculous labyrinth freaked him out a little. 

Five miniature living rooms later, Stiles bounded over to a sleek leather couch. “Hey, what about this one?”

“I don't care. You know this.”

“Just try it.”

So Derek sat down gingerly, closing his eyes, trying to picture himself napping on it in his loft. When he opened his eyes, Stiles was gone. 

Derek was out of his element, but he reasoned if he could navigate a forest in pitch blackness, he could find Stiles in IKEA. So he followed Stiles' scent. Of course, the problem with focusing on Stiles' heady scent was that he tuned out everything else until there was only Stiles. By the time he rounded a corner to find Stiles sitting on a bed blinking innocently up at him, Derek lost it.

“Took you long enough.”

Derek's eyes flashed red, and then Stiles was flat on his back with an alpha werewolf pressing him into the floor-model mattress, teeth latching onto his neck 

“Derek,” Stiles hissed. “Despite my dick's interest in the proceedings, I don't actually want to get arrested.”

“I'll be able to tell if anyone's coming.”

“Uh, may I remind you of the time at the movie theater. And the other time at the movie theater. And then that one time my dad-oh fuck-”

Derek was mouthing at the front of Stiles' jeans, and Stiles could no longer be held responsible for his questionable choices. Derek's mouth was like sin. Stiles wasn't sure if it was because Derek was a werewolf or just really good at sucking cock, but in a matter of seconds, his pants were open and his cock was surrounded by the familiar tight, wet heat of Derek's mouth. 

“Fucking hell, how do you-with your-fuck-tongue.” Stiles started to pump his hips, hitting the back of Derek's throat. 

Derek hummed in encouragement, letting Stiles fuck up into his mouth. Sometimes he used his strength to hold Stiles down, teasing and torturing him until he was begging for release. But sometimes he got off on Stiles completely losing control, like now, fisting his hands in the ugly comforter, running his mouth in a string of curses. His scent and his pleas were overwhelming Derek, his own cock straining in his jeans, so much so, that Derek didn't notice the IKEA employee until he was clearing his throat, right as Stiles was coming down his with a shout.

“Excuse me, uh, sirs. You can't do that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

He was trying to avert his eyes as Stiles scrambled, putting his cock away and trying to duck behind Derek as if he wouldn't be noticed.

The employee did notice Stiles, however, and took it upon himself to escort them out of the store.

As soon as they got to the Jeep, Stiles finally spoke.

“Oh my god. I can't believe you got me banned from IKEA. I hate you so much right now.”

“Werewolf, remember? I know you're lying.”

“Now I really, really hate you.”

“Still lying. But I'll let you fuck me in the bathroom at the movie theater if it'll make you feel any better.”

“Deal.”

* * *

**35.**

Stiles meets Derek Hale the first time he gets a ticket. 

He doesn't know who he is at the time though-- he only vaguely remembers his dad mentioning a new hire to him while he'd been away finishing College last year. 

So he spends longer than he'd ever admit, first gaping in consternation into his rearview mirror at the police cruiser, then staring in awe at the man who finally gets out of it. Because, holy Jesus, the officer is hot. His uniform fits him like a glove, and the reflective shades he's rocking give him an air of mystique that does absolutely _nothing_ to Stiles' libido-- oh hell, that's a lie.

"Do you realize you were doing 60 in a 35?" The cop asks him, eying Stiles over the rims of his shades.

The thing is, as the son of the Sheriff, Stiles has grown up with a certain level of... amnesty. His dad's name was on his registration, so even if the local officers managed to somehow miss his Jeep, his dad's name coming up when they pulled his plates typically got their attention.

So Stiles has the bad habit of, not so much _ignoring_ the rules of the road, as viewing them as more...guidelines.

"Oh my god. I was only doing 50!" Stiles blurts, defensive before he can think about it, and then he clamps his mouth shut. _Shit._

The cop smirks, nods sagely, and makes a note on the clipboard he's got braced against his chest.

~*~

Stiles is walking out of the Sheriff's office, glumly clutching at the ticket his dad refused to make go away, when he sees hot cop again. 

"Hey! You!"

Officer _Hale_ , because that's the cop's name apparently, turns around and raises an eyebrow as Stiles jogs to catch up.

"You OWE me," he says, shoving the ticket in Hale's face.

"Do I?"

"Yes! Now I have to pay for a ticket, which I _can't afford_ , and my dad gave me the LOOK! And it's your fault!" Stiles glares at Hale, who just smiles at him in bemusement.

It's an unfairly pretty smile; Stiles fixates on the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the white flash of his teeth. 

"Derek."

"Um...?”

"My name? And you're _Stiles._ " Derek... doesn't even hide the way his gaze travels up and down over Stiles' body.

Stiles steps back, blinking. His rage is gone in the second it takes for his brain to go from bothered, to _hot_ and bothered.

He licks his lips, and then casually leans back against the wall in a way that he hopes looks provocative. Because, OK, this is interesting. 

"I think I said something about you owing me?" Stiles says, letting his voice go a little husky with invitation. 

Derek snorts, but says, "I think you did."

~*~

"Jesus fuck!" Stiles gasps, knocking his head back against the door of Derek's apartment.

Derek is kneeling. In front of him. In his uniform- _God_. He's mouthing and licking at Stiles’ dick through his jeans where the fabric is already wet with precome, and everything is hot and intense in a way that no one else has ever managed in Stiles-- ok granted, rather limited-- experience. 

"You want this?" Derek asks. "Want me to suck you off?"

Stiles takes the hint, pushing Derek's head away long enough to pull his dick out. He trails the tip across Derek’s spit-slick lips, and Derek takes it, tonguing at the underside of Stiles' dick, and then hollowing his cheeks, sucking like it's a fucking lollipop. 

Stiles groans, and his fingers tangle compulsively in Derek's hair, guiding him.

"I really do."

~*~

Derek presses his face between Stiles' shoulder blades, before moving to let his cock slip free from Stiles’ aching ass.

"Been wanting to do that for forever," Derek mumbles. 

"Mmm...Wait. What?!" Stiles says, lifting his head to look back at him. 

Derek stiffens, then shrugs, settling bonelessly back on the bed. 

"I knew who you were when I pulled you over,” he admits. “I saw you once, back when I was first hired. There was a department picnic and you were talking to your dad. By the time I went looking for you though..."

"Yeah! Right! I was only there for like a minute. So what, you thought you'd get my attention now, _by giving me a ticket?"_

"No...more like," Derek slides a finger into Stiles' ass, testing where he's still open and wet, "I just took advantage of an opportunity."

* * *

**36.**

The first time they break the bed is, thankfully, the last time as well. But apparently Stiles doesn't think so, if the way he fucks is any indication.

Usually they don't do the whole rough sex thing, saving it for special occasions like birthdays and after one (or both) of them almost dies. Most of the time the sex is, for a lack of a better word, gentle, not soft or slow but sensual in a way that Derek never gets outside their bedroom. He'd even call it lovemaking if it wouldn't make Stiles mock him for the rest of eternity.

Lately it's been the opposite. Not that Derek's complaining – he's not, sex is always great with Stiles, whether he's holding his hands while he rocks above him or pounding Derek's ass so hard he sees the face of god, it's all good – but he feels like Stiles is having sex with him less for wanting to have sex with him and more for trying to break the bed again.

The problem is is that it won't break, and Derek tells him that. Going from second hand to Walmart bought doesn't exactly back up his words but it's a new bed frame. They've had it for two months, if it hasn't broken yet it isn't going to break, no matter how hard they fuck.

It must have gotten through his thick head though because eventually he calms down and when Derek is almost ripped apart by mermaids the life-affirming sex isn't rough, tough and mean like the last time when it was Stiles almost being ripping apart by mermaids (they have a problem with the local mermaid population okay). 

They clutch at each other, Stiles' kisses deep and slow but no less desperate for that they aren't frenzied. It feels like he's trying to consume him, take him and put him in his ribcage next to his stubborn human heart so that he'll never be hurt again. It's beautified but Derek finds it hard to care when Stiles is taking him apart (putting him back together) with his fingers.

At three, Derek has stopped trying to kiss back, letting Stiles mouth at his face while he pants and tries not to concentrate too hard on what Stiles is mumbling into his jawline.

God, he missed this.

"Stiles, please," he gasps into his hair as Stiles simultaneously sucks a bruise into his neck and plays with his prostate.

"Shh, shh, I got you."

He slips his fingers out with a wet sound. Derek expects to be flipped over but apparently that would require them to separate and even for just a few seconds is too much right now. Instead Stiles turns him on his side so that they're facing each other and hikes his leg up so that he has access to his hole. He guides his cock in with a low moan that Derek echos. Stiles isn't the biggest of guys but it's a stretch each time they do this. Derek loves it, even the little bit of burn, makes him feel alive, full, like he's making a place for himself inside him.

It's perfect, the way they – fuck it – make love, because this can be called nothing else. Stiles fucking into him, the air hot between them.

Derek remembers how the bed had creaked the first time the bed broke, barely audible above the grunts and whines and slap of skin against skin. It's eerily similar to the noise he heard just then. He heard it though, and Stiles did too, both of them pausing, breathing heavy as another ominous creak echoed from under them. Just when Derek thinks it's safe, the world falls out from beneath him.

It's quiet for a moment, but then he makes this shocked sound and Stiles laughs.

Derek tries to stifle his own giggle in Stiles' shoulder, but Stiles is full out laughing and it's contagious. He comes with Stiles trying to kiss his wide grin and listing the the left.

Huh, so maybe it wasn't the last time.

(but that one was the last time, not counting when the harpies happened, because Derek gets a steel bed frame that is practically indestructible and won't even break from enthusiastic werewolf sex. Doesn't stop Stiles from trying, but Derek wouldn't have it any other way.)

* * *

**37.**

The text arrives at midnight, simple and plain, but the intent is clear as day: _Rough night. You still awake?_

It should say something about Isaac’s life that he doesn’t even hesitate, just climbs out of bed and gets dressed, scribbling a hasty note on the kitchen whiteboard so Derek doesn’t worry.

Scott’s waiting for him when he arrives, mostly naked, save for his briefs, and Isaac’s barely climbed through the window before Scott’s stripping him down, pulling him into a bruising kiss that’s just this side of rough. Isaac doesn’t ask what happened, isn’t sure he wants to know, and just kisses back, taking everything Scott will give him.

Eventually he pulls away, sinks to his knees, nuzzling against Scott’s erection through his briefs, the scent of his arousal intoxicating. Scott’s hands settle on Isaac’s shoulders as he slides Scott’s underwear down to his ankles, freeing his cock. Some nights Isaac takes his time, teases and tortures him until he’s begging for release. But tonight he doesn’t waste any time wrapping his lips around the head of Scott’s cock, fingers reaching to grab his hips and encourage him to fuck into Isaac’s mouth. Isaac can already sense his orgasm building, knows it won’t be long.

“Isaac, _fuck_ ,” Scott moans, part warning, part plea, then he’s coming down Isaac’s throat.

Scott reaches for him, yanking him to his feet, guiding their mouths together in a hard, desperate kiss, one hand gripping his hip while the other wraps around Isaac’s cock. By the time Scott’s hand starts moving, he’s so hard, so turned on, that it only takes a few quick pulls before his orgasm hits him. Isaac comes with a shudder, his moan swallowed by Scott’s mouth, and he falls onto the bed, half sprawled across Scott as he struggles to catch his breath. He allows himself a few moments to press his face into Scott’s neck, before moving to grab a cloth to clean up the mess.

“You can stay, if you want,” Scott says, casual, when Isaac’s finished, patting the empty spot beside him. Isaac tries to ignore the way his chest clenches, because he knows why it’s being offered, what it means, what it doesn’t.

But for all of Isaac’s strengths, in this he’s weak, so very weak, when it comes to Scott. He knows he should say no, knows it like he’s known it the past thirty times and will know it the next thirty as well.

There is no hesitation in his voice when he says, “Yes,” climbing into bed.

Scott nods, shuffles underneath the covers until he’s comfortable, not quite touching Isaac, but close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Good night, Isaac.”

Isaac swallows. “Night.”

He knows he can’t keep doing this, offering himself up like this. The sudden bitterness hits him like a punch to the gut, and he fights back a sour laugh. Except he has no one to blame for this but himself. Scott is everything Isaac could ever want -- he is kind and good, genuine and trustworthy. He sees the best in people. Scott makes Isaac feel better about himself, makes Isaac want to _be_ better. If only Scott felt the same about him. If only Isaac were _Allison_ instead.

Isaac waits until Scott’s heart rate has slowed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath before he rolls onto his side, careful not to disturb him. Under the pale moonlight filtering through the window, Scott is even more beautiful, and Isaac is filled with such intense _longing_ that he can barely breathe for a moment.

What would happen if he said something, if he admitted the truth to Scott, even if Scott can’t hear him?

It’s a foolish idea. Dangerous. He’s never said the words out loud, let alone to Scott. But Isaac’s tired of pretending, tired of playing it off as just a thing between friends, because it’s not. Maybe it never was.

Nothing but Scott’s soft, steady breathing fills the air, and Isaac instinctively curls closer to him. He listens to Scott’s heartbeat and waits. Waits five minutes, ten, twenty, until he is absolutely certain that Scott’s asleep, won’t accidentally hear his confession for the first time, here, like this.

He whispers, “I love you,” into the dark, lips a gentle caress against warm skin, and hopes that one day it will be enough.

* * *

**38.**

**Manscaping**

The first time Stiles does it, it's on a whim. A guy gets curious, you know? His extensive browsing kind of bi-curious porn contributed to said curiosity. But he kind of _likes_ the feel of it; Stiles shaves his junk baby smooth. He isn't a particularly hairy guy in the first place, his leg hair is fairly light in comparison to others and he doesn't have a single hair on his chest. So he sticks with shaving his junk and quickly discovers how high-maintenance it is to stay so clean; his balls itch so fucking fierce a week later that he's getting offended looks from _Scott_.

So he buys a nicer razor and keeps it up.

It's a little sad having no one to appreciate it, though. Not like Stiles doesn't _try_ to find someone. Lydia was is a lost cause. Deep in his heart he's always known that, but after Jackson's kanima problem was resolved, there is _definitely_ no chance now.

It isn't until a series of odd events later, events that lead to having _Derek Hale_ shucking his pants off, that Stiles gets the appreciation he was hoping for. At least he's _pretty_ sure it's appreciation. He likes to think he knows how to decipher Derek's thoughts via his various eyebrow positions. They hike near his hairline and Derek pauses, staring at Stiles' handiwork. It makes Stiles squirm, self-consciousness washing quickly over him, until Derek let's out a _growl_. His cock twitches and his balls tighten closer to his body. Everything is decidedly right with the world once Derek gets over his brief surprise and starts with the _appreciating_. With his _mouth_.

That is also Stiles' first blowjob, and it rocks his world as hard as he thought it would.

Their relationship continues and Stiles is pretty sure Derek likes the manscaping, what with all the _mauling_. It could have just been the high sex-drive werewolves ostensibly possess, not that Stiles has anyone else to compare. He isn't complaining. 

It's due to a hard, rough few weeks involving fairy-chasing that Stiles has lapsed on maintenance and sports the bush again. Somehow the itching hasn't bothered him as much this time; probably because he's so distracted. 

He hasn't been mauled by Derek since the start of the fairy mess, though. They'd had a tiff and currently aren't on speaking terms. Derek's emotional constipation and Stiles' stubbornness don't help the situation. 

But Stiles is starting to _miss_ his wolf and he's tired of this not talking crap. His dad is at work for the late shift and Stiles is alone at home. He decides he's going to fix things, but that's going to require shaving first. So he stands up from his bed and is about to march to the shower when he hears the distinct sound of his window opening. 

Heart lurching, he turns and sees Derek climbing through with something of a guilty look. 

There's an awkward moment where they both just stand there, but Stiles drops his gaze and sucks it up. "Derek--"

"I'm sorry." Derek beats him to it. Derek _never_ apologizes, so it's startling to hear.

Stiles looks up and meets his gaze and suddenly all he wants is just to be close, but Derek beats him to that too; Derek closes the distance and has Stiles against the door in seconds, their mouths crushing together. Stiles always likes the slight pain that mixes with their pleasure, how their kisses are always _dirty_ , all teeth and tongue and beard burn. 

He isn't sure which one of them makes the first moan and he doesn't care. Stiles paws at Derek's shirt before his own is yanked off, their clothes falling piece by piece. 

When Derek's hand pauses briefly over Stiles' cock and he breaks the kiss to stare at him curiously. "You haven't shaved…"

Stiles blinks a few times, all the blood in his dick and not his brain. "No. Sorry, I--" His mouth clicks shut at the flash of _red_ in Derek's eyes and the utterly _wolfish_ smile that follows. It's pretty fitting, all things considered.

Before Stiles knows it, he's over Derek's shoulder and being toted to the bed. Claws gently prick the skin of his thighs before he’s tossed to the mattress, flailing briefly.

He grins widely up at the hungry wolf pressing him down.

That’s the last time Stiles manscapes.

* * *

**39.**

**The First Time Stiles Realises Derek Knows Morse Code**

They’ve done this before, on the rare occasion that the betas actually leave Derek’s loft and they don’t have to spend the precious alone-time trying to save Beacon Hills from another extremely dramatic emergency.

So it has happened. A few times. A few _good_ times.

It’s definitely more of a pattern than a few scattered occurrences by now, but it hasn’t happened often enough to erase the newness of it. The weight of Derek’s cock on his tongue is still something that makes Stiles intensely aware that he’s _blowing Derek Hale_. But the groan that Derek tries to hold back is familiar enough and Stiles knows exactly how to find it.

Derek leans back against the wall by the front door, where Stiles had pressed him back breathing heavily into their kiss instead of leaving (like he had actually intended to do).

“Scott’s waiting,” Derek had said, words muffled almost beyond recognition and all they’d done was remind Stiles how good Derek’s lips feel as they opened under his.

“I don’t think so.” Stiles had slipped his fingers under the shirt, curling them around Derek’s waist. “Scott’s cockblocked me enough for a lifetime, thanks.”

Derek hadn’t argued much after that, but Stiles has a feeling his persuasion skills lie in the way his wet lips sink down on Derek’s cock, and not really in his flawless argumentative techniques.

He opens his mouth wider, pressing his tongue wide to the underside of Derek's cock, dragging his tongue along the length until he can run the tip under the head. Derek's hand splays out over his neck, his thumb tapping against Stiles' jaw. It's the exact same spot as usual and Stiles is considering just getting Derek's handprint tattooed there.

Might be the easiest.

Derek's aborted little moans are his new favourite thing. Stiles switches favourite things fairly easily, granted, but he has a feeling this one is sticking around. And he knows his tongue is the absolutely surest way to those moans, so he's using that one for all it's worth.

Score one for Stiles against everyone who ever thought his tongue was only good for talking. He doesn't know if anyone's ever thought that, but it seems the sort of thing people _would_ think about him.

Stiles falters and tries to pull away when Derek’s moan turns into a snort – one that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

Reaching out to cup the back of Stiles’ head, Derek looks down at him, eyebrow raised. "You're tapping out your name in morse code on my dick."

"Oh," Stiles says, only to realise he's nearly gagging on cock. He pulls away and it bobs against his chin, leaving a trail of precome. "Uh, yeah. Didn't think you knew that."

Derek goes quiet, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks away for a moment until his expression loses some of the edge. “Best way to keep secrets in a big group of siblings.”

Even as Stiles gives a noncommittal hum, he knows he’s being utterly, bitterly betrayed by the hitch in his breath. He trails his finger along the zipper on Derek’s jeans before splaying his hand over the skin beneath.

“I just like knowing things,” he says, leaning forwards to press his cheek against Derek’s hip. “You never know when you’ll need them.”

Stiles looks up, smiling crookedly before leaning forwards to run his tongue along Derek’s cock, liking the way the jeans rub against his cheek. He pulls away a little, finding the angle where he can take Derek into his mouth again, tapping his tongue lightly against the tight, heated skin.

He can see Derek trying to focus, even as his mouth falls open and his hand tightens at the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles is caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to gag himself on the cock until Derek comes, but he just keeps tapping, his thumb rubbing circles on Derek’s skin.

“Yeah,” Derek says, breath getting stuck in his throat after Stiles has pressed the last letter of ‘fuck me’ into Derek’s skin. “Yes.”

* * *

**40.**

When the bang resounds through the forest, Lydia freezes in her tracks, Allison throws herself to the floor, and the wolves howl at the full moon.

Stiles, gun still smoking in his hand, doesn't even blink.

*

"Stiles, Stiles, man, are you okay?" Scott is bearing down on him, almost-claws digging into Stiles' shoulders until he tears his gaze from the corpse to lock onto his best friend's face.

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, feeling the air rush out of his body, his entire frame sagging so the gun thuds to the ground. Suddenly he's being held up, secure arms wrapped around his back. 

"I've got you," Derek growls into his ear, and Stiles can't help a high-pitched giggle that eventually dissolves into stricken silence.

"Thanks," Stiles murmurs, and lets Derek carry him back home.

*

Scott tries to take the gun away, he thinks he and Allison are being discrete, but Stiles says no, _no_ , and they finally leave, worry painted wide open on their faces. 

The gun sits on the desk, untouched.

Derek kneels on the floor next to Stiles' legs, looking up with his classic blank expression. "You're okay," he says, a statement, not a question.

Stiles nods stiffly. "How did you feel?" he asks, and he doesn't need to clarify, because he and Derek, despite their differences, are the only two who sit on the same wavelength (of loneliness, of fierce loyalty, of loss).

Derek contemplates Stiles for a long time, eyes roving over the pinched edges of Stiles' eyes, the gaunt cheeks, the dark circles that speak of lost sleep.

"I felt like I had avenged her," Derek finally says, unblinking. "I felt justified."

Stiles' hand drifts over his heart, beating steadily against his chest. "Scott thinks I feel guilty. He thinks I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life." He laughs bitterly. "He thinks I'm broken. And he's right. Just not in the way he thinks. I can't even break properly, because I'm such a fuck-up."

Derek's hand covers Stiles', and Stiles doesn't push him away, doesn't say no.

"The worst thing would be if he doesn't wake up," Stiles says, breathing hard, "but if he does... if he does, I can't face him. I can't lie to my dad's face about his son," he swallows, choking on tears that don't surface, "becoming a killer, _for him_. And that it was the most fucking satisfying thing I've felt for _three weeks_. I felt _alive_."

"Stiles," Derek murmurs, and pulls him down so their lips meet. Stiles fists Derek's jacket with both hands and sobs into the kiss, tears sliding down Derek's beard.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles cries, and pulls Derek over him, onto him, to cover him whole.

*

"I don't want you think you're taking advantage," Stiles whispers fiercely into Derek's mouth as he straddles Derek's lap, rising up and sinking down with increasing ferocity, "because I want this, I need this, so please, _don't you dare apologise_ , because--"

Derek eats up Stiles' words until they're nothing but muffled moans, Derek's cock splitting Stiles wide open, Derek's hands holding tight on Stiles' hips, a stalwart support.

"Stiles," Derek whispers into his ear, one hand on Stiles' leaking cock, "come on, _come on, take it_ , Stiles, _Stiles_ \--"

And Stiles falls over the edge with Derek's cock in his ass, Derek's hand on his cock, and Derek holding him high enough to breathe.

* * *


	7. Group C (no warnings)

**41.**

“You should run with us tonight,” Isaac said, as Scott backed him up against the wall.

“Wha-? You want to talk about this now?” Scott asked, pulling back.

“You’re missing out.” Isaac shrugged. 

“Why?”

“It’ll be fun. You’ll be safer, too, in the pack. We all keep an eye on each other.” Isaac looked at Scott from under his curly hair, and Scott sighed and took a step back.

“Just think about it?” Isaac stepped closer, gripping Scott’s arm. Scott sighed again 

“Ok,” Scott said, burying his face in Isaac’s hair.

~~~

Scott sat, shuddering on his bed. He could feel the bones shifting beneath his skin, it used to make him queasy, like when he'd rode a rollercoaster when he was eight and ended up puking up his cotton candy. Now it just made him itch.

He could hear Derek's pack in the forest - just Derek, Isaac, and Peter now. The urge to howl was almost overwhelming. His mom was at the hospital, and won't be back until after he should've left for school. He'd barely finished his thought before the next one was chasing it. Scott wondered if this was what Stiles went through, before his meds. He’d never needed to run with the pack like this, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he did feel like he was missing out.

Scott made his way down the stairs, jumping down the stairs two at a time. He opened the front door, clawed nails scratching the paint. Scott hoped his mum wouldn’t notice, and walked out into the night. Smells and sounds assaulted him, and he shook his head slightly, filtering out all the unnecessary bits. He homed in on the pack and began to run. 

Scott headed to the forest, following the sounds and smells of the pack. He could make out the individuals, if he tried, but mostly the scents clumped together to form something undeniably them and together and pack. Scott felt a twinge in his chest, but shook it off. 

Scott paused on the edge of the forest. He took a deep breath in. Scott could smell Isaac before he saw him. Scott barely had time to turn before Isaac was on him, grinning. He shoved at Isaac, who just growled at him, and they rolled together on the forest floor.

~~~

“Last night was ok, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, smiling. 

Isaac nodded, not wanting to push it. He tugged Scott towards him and Scott pressed him against the locker, pressing his knees between Isaac’ legs. Isaac shuddered as his dick hardened, grinding his hips forward.

“We’ll have to be quick,” Isaac said, eyes darting to the locker room door.

“We’ll manage. We can make it a week of firsts,” Scott said. 

Isaac leaned forward and captured Scott’s mouth, sucking Scott’s bottom lip into his mouth and nipping at it. Scott’s hands found Isaac’s hips and pulled him closer, needing more friction. 

“Wait, wait,” Isaac said. He shoved at Scott, causing him to dig his fingers into Isaac’s hips. Isaac ignored him and tugged at their jeans, shoving them and their underwear down just enough to free their dicks. “Better,” he said. Scott grinned at him and wrapped a hand around Isaac’s dick, squeezing it. 

“Fuck,” Isaac groaned, head dropping to rest on Scott’s shoulder. He grasped Scott’s dick. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said, fucking Isaac’s fist. Isaac ran his thumb over the head of Scott’s dick, smearing the hot wetness there. Scott groaned, dick getting harder in his hand. 

“Feels good,” Isaac flushing hot all over. He could smell sex and sweat in the air, hear Scott’s heartbeat get faster. Isaac growled as Scott’s hand’s dug into his hip, drawing blood. He came all over Scott’s hand. Scott swore and lifted his hand to lick Isaac’s cum off his fingers, growling. 

Isaac whimpered and dropped to his knees, taking Scott into his mouth. Scott shouted as he came, one hand fisted against the locker door above Isaac’s head.

“Fuck, fuck,” Scott panted. “That was good.” 

Isaac grinned and stood back up. They re-arranged their clothing.

“You know, I’ve never done it outside either,” Isaac said.

“Meet me in the forest after school then,” Scott replied, grinning.

* * *

**42.**

Allison looked both ways as she crossed the parking lot. She swore to herself this was the last time she'd skip class. It was important for her to focus, she knew that, but the stress was getting to her, and she'd needed to get away.

'A couple of hours away, and I'll be as good as new' She thought to herself as she started the car up. It wasn't long afterwards she parked her car on the edge of the woods, and started to just walk, not with any route in mind. Her crossbow hung at her side, just in case she needed it, but as far as she could tell, it was peaceful. By the time her senses told her to turn around, she was pinned to the ground, the stones and tree bark that scattered the ground digging into her skin.

"Didn't daddy tell you it's not safe to be wandering around on your own?" Smirked Derek, and Allison saw a hunger in his eyes. She struggled, but Derek had a strong grip on her wrists, and putting his whole weight on top of her, he kissed her mouth roughly, slipping his tongue in. Allison felt a heat in her crotch the deeper the kiss went, and Derek found himself being met with little resistance. With one hand, he held her wrists above her head, and with the other hand, he fumbled for the zipper of her jeans. Biting back the moan she was desperate to release, Allison writhed, pretending to put up a fight, but by now, her panties and jeans were around her knees, and Derek was pulling his cock from inside his pants.

"You're soaking wet." He groaned, holding his cock, and rubbing it up and down her entrance. "Don't even try to deny it, Allison. You want it."

"Derek..." The moan she'd been holding back slipped out, her body already on edge. "Please..."

"Please what?" He pulled away, rubbing her thigh, though never getting close enough to her crotch to help her with the need that was pushing her into overdrive.

"Derek..." She repeated again, and he raised his eyebrows, clearly getting frustrated with her - he was in no mood for her games right now. Pulling at her shirt, he watched as the buttons popped, leaving her bra exposed, and he dug his nails into her left breast, smirking at the scream she bit down.

"You're one bad hunter, you know that? Skipping school, getting turned on by someone like me... Then again, you've always liked the wild ones, haven't you?" He searched her eyes for argument but there were none. She looked away from his gaze, still silent. "Come on Allison. Just a few little words, and you'll get exactly what you want. Beg me, Allison." She swallowed her pride and hesitation, and once again, locked eyes with him, somewhat defiantly. Her tongue ran over her lips, wetting them, and as it drew back into her mouth, she could taste Derek on them.

"...Please fuck me, Derek. Please, I need it, I need you...." She panted, a low growl emitting from the back of her throat as he thrust his cock into her pussy.

"You good little girl..." He moaned, the hand gripping her wrists finally releasing to move down to her breasts, squeezing them as hard as he could, his nails drawing spots of blood. But Allison didn't notice, her head was thrown back and her back arching, so on edge, but holding off as much as she could. She didn't want it to be over - she'd never been so turned on before in her life.

"I'm gonna cum..." Came Derek's warning, only seconds before his body was pressed hard against hers, and Allison let out a scream as she was finally pushed over the edge. Carefully he withdrew, though Allison remained where she was, her body still twitching from her orgasm. Slowly, her eyes opened to find Derek crouching next to her, admiring her body.

"Now, what did we learn today?" He asked, helping her up, and Allison hugged herself, trying to cover up her shredded bra.

"No more skipping school." She said, her voice hoarse. Derek moved close to her, something which could have been menacing if Allison wasn't still so turned on. His palm swatted at her ass, and she jumped slightly, and Derek chuckled.

"That too. But I'm damn sure this won't be the last time we have a little fun, will it?"

* * *

**43.**

It was still dark when they made their way down to the beach area of the lake. Only crazy people came down there, and yet here they were. Lydia held Derek's hand as they walked along the trail, just a hint of twilight around them. The sunrise would be there soon enough but they had time. Faint moonlight reflected on the water of the lake and Derek led them down the beach to a large boulder. They moved around to the front and he stopped. It was an ideal spot because until you walked on the beach around the boulder or were on the water, they would be pretty much secluded. Plus they would have a block against the wind too.

"Here we go," he said and undid the blanket, fanning it out and down onto the sand before sitting down himself and reaching up for her. 

Lydia smiled and took his hand and moved to the blanket as well. She looked out toward the water and appreciated the amazing view. "It's so great out here," she said, leaning against him, wrapping her arms around him as they sat together.

Derek chuckled softly. "I can't believe this is your first sunrise," he said, his own arm moving around her shoulders.

"What can I say, I hadn't gotten to it on my bucket list yet, but I guess now I can cross it off."  
"Maybe we can cross a few more things before the day is over," he said, his fingers playing with her long braid.

The day was very slowly growing more bright but it would be minutes until the sun was hitting the horizon and coming up over the lake. It felt like they were completely alone, the only noise besides their whispered talking was water lapping at the shore and the occasional birds in the trees a bit behind them.

Lydia grinned and moved against him easily sliding into his lap, straddling him and looking to his face. "Maybe we should do something to occupy our time instead of just sitting, hmm?" She smirked as one hand moved down his body to his shorts and tugged at the waistband as she leaned in close to him and kissed him softly. Her nimble fingers had his shorts open easy enough and her hand slipped into wrap around his warm flesh and eased him out. "Mmm you feel so good."

Derek groaned deep, almost growling when she took control, and then touched him. She was a wicked tease and he couldn't love her more for it. His hands moved over her legs and up her thighs as they disappeared under her sundress. Further and further up until he reached her soft cotton panties and pulled them aside as he pulled her closer. Her legs slid around him and he was breathing harder as he smelled how so aroused and ready she already was for him. He buried him face against her neck as he slowly pushed inside of her.

"Oh fuck, that feels so damn good. More, so much more..." Lydia moaned and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back and moaning against his own mouth.  
The sun was starting to glow around them as they started moving as one, Derek thrusting harder and deeper inside of her. Lydia pressed her fingers against his back. She arches her back and pressed closer against him, using her legs to grind down against his hip.

Derek didn't say much but he was making more noises, louder and louder. Panting and moaning, growls here and there, he clung to her as they both rode further and further along and closer to the edge. He leaned in and kissed her hard again, sucking hard on her lips and murmuring her name. "I love you Lydia, I love you so much."

Lydia whimpered as her hips moved and Derek moved harder and faster inside of her. This was perfect, better than she could have thought up herself. The rock behind them lit up as the sun started above the horizon and everything was starting to glow yellow and the day was waking up. She moved and tugged at her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head and dropped it to the side of them on the blanket. It was a pretty good guess that they weren't going anywhere else today and Lydia was okay with that.

* * *

**44.**

"Does it always feel like this?" Danny asks, fumbling with Stiles' belt buckle. His fingers are warm where they skim over Stiles' bare skin, smooth and silky, buzzing a little, just like Stiles.

Stiles hums in agreement, too busy kissing Danny to answer properly. All of his limbs feel loose and light, like he'd float away if Danny wasn't pinning him to the forest floor, lush and eager and clumsy with euphoria. "Not always this intense," Stiles sighs as Danny moves on to Stiles' neck, "but yeah. It's the power drop. Best kind of high." 

Danny finally gets Stiles' pants open and there's a lot of squirming after that. Both of them settle with their pants scrunched up past their knees, each of them palming wide swaths of skin and muscle. Every time Danny rolls his hips into Stiles, their cocks bump together and Stiles sees honest-to-god sparks, white-red-gold, behind his eyes. 

With all struggling, Danny slips to one side, leaving half of Stiles cold and bereft. "You have to--" Stiles grunts, and nudges Danny around until he's a long line of heat all along Stiles' front. He drags his palms up Danny's sides in a slow, sweet slide, and is rewarded with a full body shiver, a moan, and Danny's mouth, lush and wet, on his nipple. 

Their hips find a rhythm with Stiles' help, his grip on Danny's waist greedy. Luckily, Danny doesn't seem to mind. His hands cling tight to Stiles' hair, tilting Stiles' head to give him more room to suck at Stiles' neck and shoulder, teeth digging in at Stiles' pulse. 

Their desperate, breathless moans sound loud in the silence; it feels like even the trees are waiting for Danny and Stiles before they take a relieved breath, free of the malevolent spirits that tried to stake a claim on this tiny section of Hale land.

Stiles can feel it building in his bones, a low pressure that aches in the sweetest way, in each joint and muscle, until he feels fairly glowing with it, high and smiling and so full of everything around him. He muffles his giddy laugh against Danny's neck, pulling him close until all he can feel and smell and _taste_ is Danny; his skin and his smile and his warmth.

"Stiles, I'm gonna--" Danny gasps, sounding euphoric, fingers curled tight in Stiles' wild hair, his body breaking down into a jerky rocking motion. His open mouth bumps into Stiles' cheek and chin, his nose and eyebrow. It's perfect and imperfect and Stiles doesn't want it to end.

"Yeah, fuck, _c'mon_ ," Stiles growls anyway, nails digging into Danny's ass, dragging him closer.

"Oh shit," Danny rasps, going still, and even with his eyes all blurry from sweat, Stiles can still make out the little furrow of Danny's eyebrows, the in-out flash of his dimples as he comes, pulling on Stiles' hair until Stiles' neck arches and he rolls into it, adding to the mess between them.

The quiet stillness after a casting is the part Stiles likes most. Coming down with Danny on top of him, though, is even better, and a not small part of Stiles is thrilled that he's finally sharing this part of himself with Danny. Though his abilities have never been a secret, Stiles has always understood how unnerving watching it happen can be. Stiles mentally kicks himself for underestimating Danny's tolerance for the weird and wacky. Danny's best friend _is_ Jackson, after all.

"We should get cleaned up," Danny murmurs after a while, once the sweat and come have congealed into an unpleasant mess. He's a little wobbly getting up on his knees and his smile looks even more unsure. It's not a smile Stiles is familiar with, nor does he want to be.

"Hey," Stiles says, pulling Danny close with their fingers tangled together. "Thanks for coming." He means so much more than that, because Danny doesn't understand, yet, how the magic could swallow Stiles whole if he let it, but that's something for later. For when they're both not hyped up on freaky magic adrenalin and post-orgasm endorphins.

Danny seems to get it, in any case, and his smile firms up. "Thanks for asking," he says, yanking Stiles up to stand. Danny even offers Stiles' his shirt to wipe off with, but Stiles pushes it away, grinning, and tugs Danny into a soft kiss.

"No way am I passing up the chance to freak Jackson the hell out."

* * *

**45.**

**The First and The Last**

**The first time Danny offers Stiles help with lacrosse** they’re in chemistry. He thinks shouldn’t get Stiles in more trouble with Mr. Harris for talking, but can’t find it in himself to care, so he asks him anyway.

Stiles looks genuinely confused, his mouth hanging open for a long time, but he finally smiles at Danny, nods. Something that has been clenching in the pit of Dany’s stomach loosens then and he makes a conscious effort to tamp down the grin he feels getting ready to split his face.

“Cool,” Danny says, trying to sound and look as nonchalant as he can. He doesn’t know when Stiles first started to actually _appeal_ to him, and he’s not sure how he feels about it, but... “After school, then?”

Stiles nods his head enthusiastically and opens his mouth to respond, but Mr. Harris interrupts with, “Do you want to spend the afternoon in detention, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Ha! Nope,” Stiles says, all sarcasm and smiles. Danny tries not to laugh when Mr. Harris rolls his eyes, turns back to the board.

*****

**The last time Stiles shows Danny his folklore collection** he doesn’t take it well.

“Seriously!. Don’t wanna know!” Danny says, grabbing his backpack from Stiles’ bed. They’d been studying for the upcoming chemistry test, but Stiles is easily distracted and Danny is newly in-the-know about all supernatural shenanigans, so... He couldn’t help himself!

“It’s not _all_ real,” Stiles tries and chases after Danny as he makes his way out of the bedroom, down the hall.

Danny is halfway down the stairs. “ _So_ don’t care.” 

Stiles is sort of panicking. Danny _can’t_ leave and his arm flies out of it’s own accord. He grabs Danny’s bicep, stopping him. “Okay, okay,” Stiles says. “I’m sorry. Just.” Danny turns, looks, and Stiles can feel his grip tighten on his arm. “Please. Stay.”

Danny hesitates long enough that Stiles feels like he may have lost something before he even had it and that is absolutely terrifying on _so_ many levels. But just as he’s working himself into half a panic attack, Danny sighs. “Fine. Just. Put it away, okay? All of it.”

Stiles nods quickly, instantly calmer. “Yeah. Of course.”

*****

**The first time Stiles makes Danny his mom’s special chocolate chip cookies** the Pack eats all but two of them before Stiles can stop them and Danny can even get to the meeting. By the time Derek goes to grab both of them at the same time, Stiles is at his wits end. He blames what he does next on pure desperation.

Flinging himself across the coffee table, he tackles Derek into the bean bag on the other side.

Of course, Derek half wolfs out, his eyes bleeding red and pretty much making Stiles shit himself, but dammit, they are _Danny’s_ cookies! So, Stiles will hold his ground on this somehow.

Five minutes later when Danny walks in the room, all the Betas are enthusiastically chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” and Stiles drops them into asshole territory for life. He’s hiding behind the couch, while Derek stares him down like he would love to eat Stiles’ insides, then follow them up with the delicious cookies. 

Danny folds himself down on the loveseat, looking completely unimpressed with everything Pack and grabs a cookie. “What did I miss?” he asks and pops half the cookie in his mouth.

Stiles, momentarily distracted by Danny’s blissed out face from the taste, misses the way Derek smirks. Moments later, he finds himself flat on his back, Derek growling triumphantly on top of him.

There are bruises the next day, but it’s okay because Danny loved the cookies.

*****

**The last time Danny invites Stiles over to study** it’s actually just a ruse to get Stiles over to his house. Because it’s been six months since he first asked him if he wanted help with lacrosse and Danny is done waiting.

He just _wants_.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles moans loudly and Danny has to hold him down with one of his legs so he doesn’t get kneed in the face. Because Stiles tastes just as amazing as he imagined and nothing is going to stop Danny from sucking his brains out through his cock. _Nothing_.

Of course, that’s when Jackson slides in Danny’s window shouting, “Faeries, man. Fucking fae- oh my _GOD_! No! Ew ew ew!”

That is the first and last time Jackson uses Danny’s window. Danny is surprisingly okay with it.

* * *

**46.**

“He bears no other valuable information,” Jackson says about the slave-trader at Derek’s feet. “It’s time to be gone from this place.”

When he raises his hand to deliver the killing blow, however, Derek holds out his hand. “Wait.” His eyes move from condemned man to the gathering of people behind Jackson. “Isaac. Come.”

Surprise flickers across Isaac’s face but he steps forward obediently, coming to stand beside Derek. Jackson gives a derisive snort. 

“Him?” He sneers. “He hasn’t the stomach for violence.”

In some ways, he is right. Isaac was a body slave before being freed; he is soft where they are hard. Still, Derek sees within him the potential for more and he will see that potential nurtured. He removes a dagger from his belt.

“Leave us,” he says. Jackson moves to protest but a dark look from Derek stays his tongue; he scowls at Isaac before following the other men out of the room. When they’re alone, Derek steps up behind Isaac until their bodies are flush together, placing his free hand on Isaac’s hip.

“Take the blade,” he says into Isaac’s ear, offering up the dagger on his palm.

Isaac does, leaning back into Derek’s embrace. He is calm in Derek’s arms the way he is with no one else; it stirs a dark, possessive nature that Isaac only encourages.

“You’ve never killed a man before, have you?” He asks, moving Isaac to stand behind the man. Isaac shakes his head. “Tonight, I would change that.”

“This would please you?” Isaac asks, turning to glance at Derek over his shoulder.

Derek smiles. “It would please me very much.”

Isaac nods, his grip tightening on the blade as he turns back to the man before him. Derek presses closer to him still, allowing his hand to cover Isaac’s over the blade. He takes the slave trader by the hair, wrenching his head back, and moves their hands to the man’s throat.

“You must not hesitant. You must not cut too shallow.” He nuzzles behind Isaac’s ear and enjoys the shiver that passes through him. “Show no mercy.”

Derek squeezes Isaac’s hand and then moves it away, letting it rest on Isaac’s shoulder as he waits for Isaac to choose the moment. Seconds pass before Isaac finally moves the blade across the slave trader’s throat and when he does, it is just as Derek commanded; quick and deep. The man gurgles, his blood spilling across their and then, when Derek lets go of his head, he falls to the ground. The knife falls with him and Isaac slowly turns his palms up to witness the blood now upon his hands.

When Isaac has stood too long staring at his palms, Derek spins them around and presses Isaac against the nearest wall. Isaac relaxes against him, as predicted, and arches up into him as their lips meet softly.

“It was necessary,” Derek says between kisses, cradling Isaac’s face in his palm. “And you’re okay. Tell me.”

“I’m okay,” Isaac repeats dutifully, relaxing against Derek. Then, cautiously, he asks, “I did well?”

With a laugh, Derek allows his hands to move down and divest Isaac of the cloth that covers his groin. Isaac whines, licking at Derek’s palm when it’s offered to him. He knows what’s coming and he is eager for it, eager to let Derek distract him.

“You were perfect,” Derek tells him as his hand slips down to curl around Isaac’s cock. “I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

Isaac’s laughter turns into a moan when Derek begins to work him. He sets a slow, leisurely pace, intent to draw out the pleasure until Isaac is lost in it, aware of nothing but Derek’s touch, his kiss, and the heat building in his groin. Isaac is beautiful when he falls apart and Derek never tires of seeing it, craves the sight every time they touch.

“Derek.” Isaac whimpers, fingernails digging into Derek’s shoulders. “Please.”

Derek groans, helpless against such a plea, and sets a new pace; this one fast, rough. He sets his mouth against Isaac’s ear as Isaac’s cries rise in pitch.

“Now,” he whispers and Isaac surges with a hoarse cry, spilling over Derek’s hand.

Their mouths meet again, this time slowly, before Isaac pushes Derek away with a smile. “Now you,” he says and drops to his knees.

* * *

**47.**

Do you remember the first time you said you loved me? 

It was another werewolf shitstorm kind of like this one. Well. Almost. You weren’t lying on the ground with a giant hole in your stomach and a broken leg -- thanks, by the way. First time I’ve ever had to set a broken bone. Really, one of the greatest moments of my life, big guy. A plus, would recommend -- it was just me with a tiny scratch and you freaking out.

You took me back to the loft after we got bandaged up, undressed and tucked us both into bed, just holding me. Your kisses started soft and gentle, barely-there caresses against my skin. Your hands were tender as they cradled my face, as though you were afraid I'd disappear and this was how you'd convince me to stay.

But then I tangled my hands in your hair, holding you against me, and ran my nails down your back just like you like it. Your kisses got harder, your hands started to roam, and oh! This was where it started to get good.

Don’t get me wrong. The softer side of the big, bad Alpha’s great and all; but we’d just been in a life or death situation! It was time for the life affirmation portion of the evening!

I forced your head back up from where you'd been sucking marks into my collarbone and kissed you, hard and wet and deep, just like you like it. Your growling moan went right through me, and I arched up; but you held me down and dragged your teeth across my neck.

Looking up, I could see that your eyes were glowing red, your fangs were showing; and oh, man, did that just turn me on even more! Love it when you go feral, did I ever tell you that? I know you have issues with it, but I trust you with everything. I know you won't hurt me.

From there, things are kind of a blur of you licking and sucking, dragging those gorgeous hands all over me, the pinprick of your claws a trail of fire down my skin. The click of the lube surprised me, but I was ready for the feel of your blunt, human finger as you reached down to play with my hole.

You’re such a tease, you know that? You just played, circling your finger around my rim, then barely pushing in, rubbing slowly and sliding in and out, just enough to drive me crazy but not enough to actually _do_ anything, no matter how much I bucked and whined and begged.

But then, mmmmm, then you brought your other slicked up hand to the base of my cock and held it just this side of too tight, giving me something to thrust into. At first, I thought you were going to be a sadistic bastard and just tease because you wouldn’t let more than my shaft into your hand. But then you mouth -- Oh, God, your mouth! It was so tight and wet as your lips wrapped around my tip. 

You give, like, the _best_ blowjobs, I really should tell you that more often. This was no exception. The suction was just _amazing_ and the things you do with your tongue! God, I am completely ruined for anyone else ever. 

And all the while you’re blowing me, that finger in my ass hadn’t stilled. Only now, it was two fingers; and they were deeper than just my rim. You’d let go of my dick and started bobbing your head, taking me as deep as you could while your fingers thrust in and out, faster and faster until finally you caught that spot and I just couldn’t --

Yeah. I was gone, man. Solid gone. May have even whited out there for a second. But when I came back down, you were holding me, running your hand down my side and nuzzling at my neck. You kissed me right behind my ear and whispered those words. Don’t think I was really supposed to hear, you were so quiet.

And now here we are, another clusterfuck of injury proportions, with a bit of wolfsbane on the side. I can hear the pack howling, by the way, so you’re gonna be okay. You’ll have another chance to tell me. That won’t be the last time I get to hear you say it.

* * *

**48.**

It isn't like Stiles has a list of sex-stuff he wants to try it's just... fuck it, fine, Stiles has a list. It's not just sex stuff, promise. It's like, 'boy/girlfriend stuff', one of which he now has.

"Stiles, we can't have sex in the Camaro, it just _won't work_. There's not enough headroom, it's only a two-door. You'd end up hurt."

"You're such a killjoy. Fine. What about the Jeep?"

"It. Won't. Work."

"You won't even try! You don't know it's not possible until you _try_. Derek..." Stiles whines.

"Fine. But if you end up in hospital, you're explaining to the nurse, who will probably be Scott's mom, how it happened."

"No worries, she loves me. Grab the lube, I'll drive."

*

Stiles parks as deep in the preserve as he can, it's mid-summer but this area should be quiet enough. Besides, Derek'll hear anyone approaching.

"This feels kinda naughty, like, the sun's out and we're about to fuck out," Stiles grins, pulling off his t-shirt.

He licks his lips as Derek strips off his tank, hands dropping, unbuckling his belt. "You realize if anyone _does_ catch us, it's your dad that they'll--"

"Look, just, shut up and let me--" Stiles reaches over and pulls Derek's fly down, slipping a hand inside so he can feel the hard line of Derek's cock.

Derek groans, trying to spread his legs wider, hitting the gear shift. He growls, low and irritated.

"Dude, you're totally into this, you're _already hard_." Stiles slips his hand up, under the waistband of Derek's boxer-briefs to get his hand on Derek's cock.

"You're an idiot," Derek says, cupping a hand around the back of Stiles's neck and pulling him over for a kiss.

Stiles fucking loves kissing Derek, he loves the rasp of Derek's stubble against his skin, he loves knowing people will be able to tell what he's been doing.

Derek makes a noise into the kiss, tongue curling around Stiles's own. Stiles makes a move to straddle Derek, but instead lets out a shout. "Fuck!" He pulls his hand off of Derek to soothe the throbbing pain in his leg where he's smashed it into the steering wheel.

Derek's slouched back in the passenger seat, red cock head trapped against his body by the elastic of his underwear.

"This looks so much fucking easier on TV," Stiles complains. This isn't fair, Stiles just wants to fuck his boyfriend in a car.

Derek sighs, rubbing a hand up the back of Stiles's buzzcut. Stiles tries not to shudder and fails, he fucking loves it when Derek does that. "Maybe if I reclined the seat, we could--" Derek offers.

He shakes his head. "Neither reclines, only the driver's seat moves at all." Stroking Betty's steering wheel he says mournfully, "Baby, I love you but this isn't working."

Derek kisses gently at Stiles's jaw. "I think--"

"You don't need to say it, _fine_ you were right." His mood's totally killed. He sullenly says, "We can go back to yours and fuck on your bed."

"That wasn't what I was going to say." He murmurs and carries on moving down, kissing at Stiles's neck.

Stiles arches his neck to give Derek access and is rewarded but the warm press of Derek's lips, and the sinfully wet feel of his mouth. "Well? What were you going to say?"

Derek whispers in Stiles's ear, "I was gonna say we could fuck on the hood."

Stiles's breath catches. "Oh."

"Yeah." He can feel Derek's smile pressed into the thin skin below his ear a second before Derek starts sucking a hickey into it. Fucking werewolves, man.

"Yeah..." Stiles echoes, sex-stupid. "Hey! We better not scratch the paintwork." 

Derek snorts, whuffing hot breath onto his spit-slick neck and causing Stiles to shiver. "Don't worry, we won't be wearing any clothes."

"Oh, _yeah_."

Derek's tugging at Stiles's jeans now, and Stiles bends down to give him a hand, and nearly brains himself on his steering wheel.

Derek pulls back to give him a look that says, 'are you fucking kidding me right now?'

"Hey, most of my blood's in my dick. Don't expect me smart." Stiles blushes.

Derek snorts again. "You're an idiot."

Stiles grins back at him. " _Your_ idiot."

He doesn't get a reply, just the warm-slick press of Derek's lips against his own.

So as it turns out, his Jeep? Not the best to fuck in. But _perfect_ to fuck _on_.

* * *

**49.**

The first time Scott gets fleas is on his second week working for Deaton, who's still only that odd man his mother volunteered him to after learning he was looking for an assistant. 

((Scott, embarrassed, had hissed in protest but she had given him The Look that promised dire things if he objected. She was right, anyway: Scott needed the money if he wanted that guitar he'd seen. ))

Scott, normally in charge of sweeping the floor and manning the reception desk, is handed a box full of kittens found in a barn. He sets it on the examination table while Deaton puts on gloves. One of the quivering balls of fluff paws the box, mews, and Scott's heart melts. He picks it - he looks, the way he's seen Deaton do last week- _her_ up and rubs his cheek against her tiny adorable face. That's when he notices that there are tiny dots all over her. 

When he asks Deaton about them, Deaton turns around, and does a resigned but amused face that Scott would later learn means he's laughing at you. 

Scott ends up sitting on the examination table himself while Deaton combs his dense hair. Scott feels kind of stupid. "Are you going to fire me?"

Deaton laughs. "Of course not. You couldn't have known."

"You did," Scott points out. "Could you teach me how to know? And how to help the kittens?" 

After a beat, Deaton does. He explains different types of fleas, their individual treatments while checking and scraping Scott's scalp. Deaton uses medical terms that Scott half recognises from his mother's books, and Scott nods along or asks questions when he misses something. Deaton's voice is calm, warm, and it sinks right into Scott's core. By the time he leaves, all the kittens have been shampooed and Scott is eager to come back tomorrow. 

 

The second time, it's after Scott won over a Lox. He's at Deaton's to borrow his first-aid kit, at Stiles's insistence. Deaton notices the fleas, but Scott waves him off, still reeling so much on the adrenaline rush he can't wolf _off_. "It's fine, human fleas and animals fleas are different, right? I'll just comb later." 

In the long pause that follows, Scott replays his words, observes the situation, and realisation hits. "Oh shit, I'm a werewolf now!"

Scott uses the dog shampoo and rinses himself in the back sink, careful with his claws. His heart can't stop trying to beat out of his chest. He's a wolf, he battles monsters, he ruined his hoodie _again_ , and he can get fleas. What is his _life_.

Deaton combs through his wet hair to check no fleas are left. His palm is large and heavy on Scott's shoulder, his thumb sweeping up and down a clavicle. "Can you shift back?" 

"Can't," Scott says, picking at the bandages on his arm. His eyes feel hot. He can't go home like this. What would his mom say?

Deaton hums and continues grooming Scott, his sideburns, his arms, his legs. He tells Scott what happened that day, how each animal is doing. He’s careful and attentive, and his body is in constant contact with Scott’s. He’s present and soft in every way. When the movement of Deaton’s gloves start to blur, Scott closes his eyes and sways into Deaton’s touches. 

After a long while, Scott realises that his fingernails are square, that his heartbeat is slow like he’s asleep. He does feel very fuzzy. There’s a weight on his shoulders that smells like Deaton and leather. Deaton guides him unto the back area couch, closes the light and leaves him alone. Scott distantly hears him talking to Melissa over the phone, but he can’t seem to care. Deaton has everything under control. 

It’s only when he rolls down to his front that Scott realises he’s hard. 

He beats off slowly, burrowing his face into Deaton’s coat. He’s safe, cozy. He feels like he could masturbate for hours. His eventual orgasm takes him by surprise, makes him gasp. On the next exhale, he’s fast asleep.

 

The last time Scott gets fleas, Scott is laughing but also nervous. “Is this really necessary?”

Deaton's eyes are shining with mirth. “Yes, it absolutely is.”

Scott’s examines the curling heat in his belly at the idea. There’s embarrassment, but also playfulness and belonging. There’s a lot of trust. “Okay.” 

He bares his neck to Deaton, who slips the flea collar around Scott's neck, and keeps his hands there.

* * *

**50.**

It starts like this: with forty dollars worth of plastic and electronics crumpled in Scott's hands.

"This is the last time!" Stiles cries. "I am one thousand percent serious, the _last time_. Never again!"

Scott looks mournfully down at the shattered controller in his hands. "I'm really sorry."

"No! I will not be swayed by those puppy dog eyes. That's the third one you've broken in a _month_. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, but my wallet can't take it. I have to put my foot down." He takes a deep breath and says it. "No more Call of Duty."

Scott just gives him this wounded, horrified look, like he didn't expect Stiles to actually go through with it. "It was an accident!"

"I know, buddy. I know." Styles sighs and flops down on the couch next to him. "C'mon, don't look at me like that. We'll find something else to do together. Something that doesn't rile up those animal urges."

#

It's not as simple as that, of course. They've got many years of friendship built on the foundation of playing violent video games together. Scott's Netflix queue gets them through another week, but then they're back to boredom and Scott eyeing the PS3, conspicuously wondering what it would take to get Stiles to lift the Call of Duty embargo.

They compromise with computer games. Scott brings his laptop over and Stiles relents because at least if Scott breaks something, it'll be his own stuff, not Stiles's.

They make it another week before some asshat on their own team kills Scott when he's having a bad day and Scott smashes his first into the keyboard with a growl and that spells the end of his laptop.

Stiles expresses his condolences and starts counting. It takes three days before Scott caves and asks if he can use Stiles's computer. Stiles is grudgingly imposed he lasted that long.

"Please!" Scott begs. "You know Mr. Harris will never let me hear the end of it if I turn in a hand written lab report. I only need half an hour, I swear. And there's no way I'm going to get invested enough in Chem homework to start breaking things."

Stiles relents, because that's what best friends do. He goes downstairs to get pizza and soda, and takes his time about it since there's not much else to do. When he comes back upstairs, Scott startles and gives him such a guilty look that Stiles stops breathing.

"I wasn't snooping, I swear!"

Stiles's lungs restart, but now he's worried for a while new reason. He circles around and discovers that it's petty much as bad as he feared. Scout has found his porn.

"That is snooping," Stiles says. "That is the _definition_ of snooping." He knows for a fact that his porn is buried five levels deep, in the recesses of the most boringly-named folders he could think of. "You brought this on yourself, and I have no sympathy for you if you've been traumatized for life."

Scott shakes his head. "I'm not traumatized," he says slowly, and his gaze stays steady on Stiles and his tongue comes out to run across his lip and Stiles is caught, staring, _hurting_ , because there's no way this can go where he wants it to and that's just plain unfair.

Maybe Scott reads it in his face or hears it in the thump of his heart, but he turns away from the computer, catches a handful of Stiles's shirt, and kisses him.

#

And it ends like this: With Stiles on his knees in front of the computer chair and Scott's dick in his mouth. Scott's moaning, twisting, writhing, his hands closed around empty air because Stiles told him that if he could make it through a blowjob without destroying something, then he'd declare Scott's animal urges officially conquered and lift the PS3 moratorium.

He isn't at all surprised when Scott tears the armrests off the chair with a shriek of metal. He expected something like that would happen. This wasn't ever really about the game.

So they never play Call of Duty again, but they're too busy exploring all the much more interesting ways two people can pass the time together to mind the loss.

* * *

**51.**

“Distract him.”

“Uh,” Stiles says, “neither my soothing voice nor my rapier wit have been much help here.”

On the table, Derek growls and thrashes. He’s strapped down with wolfsbane rope, but it won’t hold forever and digging the shrapnel out of his shoulder is a delicate job. The bullet itself hadn’t been filled with wolfsbane – at least no variant Deaton knew – but whatever was in it is keeping Derek half-feral. 

“ _Then figure something else out_ ,” Deaton snaps.

Stiles looks down at Derek and takes a deep breath. “Okay, big guy, here goes…”

He moves to stand behind Derek’s head and digs a hand into his hair. It’s forbidden fruit, something Stiles has always wanted to touch but never dared. But it makes Derek’s whole body arch up, straining the ropes. Then Stiles starts rubbing his fingers in small, tight circles, and Derek slowly relaxes back to the table.

Deaton goes back to digging into Derek’s shoulder with the scalpel. Derek whines, but Stiles shushes him softly and brings his other hand up to scritch his short fingernails lightly across Derek’s scalp.

Afterwards, Stiles assumes Derek remembers none of it. Doesn’t mean Stiles can stop thinking about it, though. How soft Derek’s hair felt under his fingers. The sound he made when Stiles squeezed bunches of Derek’s hair in his fists. Derek would be a lot less grouchy if Stiles gave him scalp rubs regularly.

So when the pack’s watching The Avengers at the loft and Derek’s sitting on the floor in front of Stiles, he stealthily lets his hand drop to start stroking through Derek’s hair. Derek slumps back against the couch, relaxing under Stiles’ ministrations… until he reaches up and bats Stiles’ hand away.

When the movie’s over, everyone starts filtering out. But just as Stiles reaches the door, he hears Derek call his name. Stiles winces. “I’m Scott’s ride, so—”

“Isaac can take him,” Derek says sternly, and everyone just files out like good little ducklings.

When it’s just Stiles and Derek left, Stiles finds himself pressed to the wall, Derek’s lips against his, and Stiles reaches for the only thing he can think of – Derek’s hair. The kiss starts out surprisingly gentle, but when Stiles’ fingers clench reflexively, it turns _hungry_. 

As suddenly as it started, it stops, and Stiles is left gasping and confused. But then Derek is dropping easily to his knees, working at Stiles’ belt and fly.

Derek is clean-shaven for once, his cheek surprisingly soft against Stiles’ rapidly hardening cock. When he buries his nose against the curls at Stiles’ groin and inhales deeply, Stiles nearly topples forward. Derek first steadies Stiles’ hips, then very deliberately takes Stiles’ hands, one at a time, and places them on his own head.

Oh.

The only warning Stiles gets is “You can pull if you want” before Derek’s mouth is on him. Stiles yelps and takes a moment to be thankful for Derek’s permission, because he’s got a thick fistful of Derek’s hair in each hand. With a groan, Derek sinks deeper onto Stiles’ cock before pulling back with hard, sucking pressure.

As Derek settles into a rhythm, Stiles tries to do the same, alternating firm circles against Derek’s scalp with long strokes of his fingernails. Whenever Derek’s tongue finds a particularly good spot, Stiles tugs urgently at Derek’s hair. Soon, beneath the wet, obscene sounds of Derek’s mouth, Stiles can hear Derek tug down his own zipper and start stroking himself.

Just the thought of it makes Stiles’ legs start to shake. All Derek has to do is sink down once more, twisting his tongue against the underside of Stiles’ cock, and Stiles is done for. Derek doesn’t seem surprised, though, just swallows him down and keeps sucking until Stiles has to actually pull him away.

Stiles is trying to get his breath back when Derek buries his face against Stiles’ hip and moans hoarsely. He sounds like he’s close, so Stiles urges him on with nails pressed to his scalp, raking lines all the way from the short hair at the nape of Derek’s neck up over the crown of his head, again and again until Derek goes rigid against Stiles for a few seconds before practically collapsing.

Stiles keeps idly stroking Derek’s hair, giving it a light tug every once in a while until he can form words again. “So, uh, you remember that night at Deaton’s?”

“Yes.”

“Then why—”

“Just… not in front of the betas.”

* * *

**52.**

**First time Stiles is invited into the puppy pack pile**

Usually after nights like this where he’d been roughed up, Stiles would find himself back at his house, sneaking up to his room mouse-quiet and thankful his dad was on the night shift. Usually after nights like this, Stiles was alone.

Instead, Stiles had the ghost of someone’s broad hands skimming up under his shirt to check for cracked ribs and fingers at his temples to remind him that he wasn’t going to be alone, this time. He’d been manhandled, wolfhandled even, into the Camaro once it was confirmed he didn’t need medical attention after their tussle with those Sasquatch-y things. The thought warmed him more than he’d ever admit.

He was almost snoring by the time the car rolled to a stop, and realized then that Derek had driven him to the loft. Derek’s loft. For a cuddle puddle. He looked over at the driver’s seat, only to realize Derek had stepped out already and was rounding the hood of the car to open the door for him.

“C’mon, get out,” said Derek.

“Such chivalry.”

If Stiles wasn’t totally beat and kind of sore all over, he would have sworn that Derek’s mouth twitched a little into a smile underneath the blood and dirt. Instead of replying, Derek wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him up to the front door, not once letting go.

“So, this is a thing,” Stiles croaked once they’d opened the door to an island of mattresses and blankets where there once had been living room furniture. Stiles stood by the pile of werewolves sprawled across the sea of blankets, feeling awkward in his own skin once Derek’s hand left his hip. Eventually, he decided on a mattress in the middle and shimmied under the duvet until he was warm and snug, humming at the tangible undercurrent of pack that surrounded him.

Stiles woke sometime later, feeling a dip on the mattress and a wolf-hot body sliding under the covers along his back.

“Hrmf?” he grunted, and was promptly shushed by a comforting growl that vibrated the bed. He squinted into the dark, looking out at the lumpy shapes across the room before trying to turn and say hello to his new bedmate.

Hands were on waist before he’d even hissed out his pain, and then Stiles was blinking at Derek’s shadowy face.

“Scott’s been teaching me how to take away pain…” Derek whispered after a moment.

Derek pressed down a little on Stiles’ chest, then Stiles’s pain was being flushed out by warmth, and good, and calm, and, light, and Lord this was seriously potent shit. After a couple seconds, Stiles was gasping, and Derek’s fingers stuttered against Stiles’ shirt before he retreated entirely.

“I think I went overboard,” Derek admitted, watching the shadowy lines fade into his skin until Stiles distracted him by arching a little into his space. Even through the goopy pleasure, Stiles was still fascinated with that vulnerable look on Derek’s face.

“Fuck, yeah, so? S’good,” Stiles sighed around a smile.

A smile which was promptly smushed by someone else’s lips.

Stiles clutched at Derek’s shoulders and held on, through the scruffy kisses and teasing bites across his neck that made his stomach clench and his skin tingle, until he was shoving his hands into Derek’s hair instead, pressed up against Derek from knee to chest. He was thanked for his efforts with a fraught little growl, and another whine again when Derek fit himself between Stiles’ legs.

“Shh,” Stiles whispered, brushing a hand down Derek’s nape before his wrists were snatched up and pinned above him. It was all slow, rolling hips after that, and gazing through half-lidded eyes as Derek’s eyes flashed red when Stiles’ hips juddered just so, or when his heel pressed into Derek’s ass, or when Stiles couldn’t help the jumble of near-silent praise from spilling out into the air between them.

“Yes,” Derek muttered against Stiles’ cheek, clearly picking up whatever Stiles was putting down, and then Stiles was too gone to care because Derek had his wrists in one hand and his dick in the other, and Stiles was coming his brains out.

He murmured through Derek’s stuttering climax, noodle-happy, wrapping Derek into a hug once his hands were free.

“This should happen even when we’re not battered and bruised, just saying,” Stiles said after a moment.

“Oh my god, go to sleep!” Isaac moaned from a bed or two away.

Derek just tucked his nose into Stiles’ neck and smiled.

* * *

**53.**

**_Wild in the Night_ **

It's strange, almost surreal to run through these woods, night a heavy weight pressing between the trees, and not be afraid. Stiles can hear the sharp snap of branches, flashes of motion out of the corner of his eye, brief flashes of fanged grins beneath glowing gold and blue. It's strange but exhilarating, a laugh caught in the back of his throat as Erica and Boyd spill across his path, locked in a mock battle before vanishing into the trees.

Stiles thinks he can get used to this, laughter and mock growls beneath the full moon rather than grinding snarls and the rattle of chain stretched to the brink.

He's leaning against a tree to catch his breath, forearm braced against the rough bark, when an arm slides around his waist, drawing him back against a solid chest that is just ridiculous. A hot mouth drags up the side of his neck and he laughs, "Let me guess, I'm totally Red Riding Hood in this scenario, aren't I?"

Derek huffs but Stiles thinks he sounds more approving of the idea than put off. "Having fun?"

"I guess." Stiles shrugs, "But it's just not the same without all the terrified running and high pitched screaming." He shakes his head. "I'm going to lose so much lung capacity at this rate."

"We wouldn't want that." Stiles feels Derek's lips curve into a "just ate Grandma" smile and panics just as Derek's leg curls around his and sends them both tumbling to the ground.

Luckily Stiles is a master of falling, although luck really has nothing to do with it, just practice oh my god so much practice. It helps that Derek doesn't land on him. Stiles braces his hands on Derek's shoulders and shifts around, the leaves dry and brittle, a twig sticking into his back. "Really? Was that necessary?"

"Yes." Derek's grin is...toothy. He reaches for Stiles' pants and has them unbuttoned and is tugging them down his hips when Stiles' brain catches up with the program.

"I see how it is," he says, a little light-headed because half the blood in his body has found a better place to be. "So when you said pack bonding, first full moon with a human, blah blah," he lifts his hips so Derek can slide his pants to his ankles, "what you were really saying was, Stiles I want to fuck you beneath the full moon like the sappy, romantic werewolf I am."

Stiles didn't think it was possible, but Derek's smile grows wider, and there's a flash of red in his eyes, teeth growing sharp. "Exactly."

There's nothing Stiles can say to that except, "My, what big teeth you have."

Derek chuckles and pulls a bottle of lube out of his pocket. Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'd make fun of you but it means you clearly put some thought into this, which I find incredibly hot." His boxers have followed his pants and his erection is a hot curve against his belly.

Cheeks flushed hot with arousal and embarrassment, he lets Derek coax him onto his hands and knees, aware that out there the pack is watching. Derek doesn't waste any time, presses a slick finger inside. Stiles sinks his fingers into the leaves and breathes. It's quiet, eerily so, just his and Derek's panting.

Derek manages to work two fingers into him when he pulls out and Stiles takes his lips between his teeth, realizes that it's going to be rough. He bows his spine, sucks in a breath at the first push of blunt heat, the slow stretch edging into pain, and it's so so good. 

From there it's a blur of heat and friction, the leaves crackling beneath his knees, night's chill stroking across sweat-slick skin. Derek's fingers pressing bruises into his hips, sharp kisses with a hint of fang scraping over Stiles' shoulders and neck. Stiles gives up on biting back his moans when he tastes blood in his mouth.

All it takes is a touch of Derek's hand on his dick to make him come, and as Stiles convulses he feels the bite of claws where Derek's hands grip his hips, hears the low, growling curse. Stiles moans in protest when Derek abruptly hauls him up and sinks human teeth into his shoulder. Still riding the edge of his orgasm it doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it should.

Through his lashes Stiles can see the shadowy forms of the rest of the pack watching.

* * *

**54.**

Stiles loves sex with Derek. Like, _really_ loves it. Because Derek is good at sex, and he makes Stiles feel good, and Stiles likes to think it’s the same in reverse, because Derek always gets off (sometimes more than once, Stiles preens) before they’re done. So Stiles thinks he holds up his end well.

Not that he’s holding anything up. In fact, if you want to be semantic, he’s being _held down_.

“Holy mother of… fuck, Derek…”

Derek chuckles. It’s a rare sound, and Stiles probably cherishes these moments more than he should. Especially when he’s contorted like this, his upper body face down and his hips twisted, one leg above Derek’s shoulder, who’s straddling the other while fucking him deep.

“Don’t stop. God, fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Stiles pants. 

Derek bends low, bracing himself with an arm on either side of Stiles’s shoulders, and it pushes Stiles’s leg even further up, spreading him more, and now he’s just a moaning mess as the new angle lets Derek push deeper into him, and _god_ he think he’d die a happy man if he could just keep Derek’s cock in his ass forever because it should be illegal for something to feel so good.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Derek growls.

Stiles just laughs.

Derek collapses forward, and now Stiles is split wide open, one leg straight up and the other still trapped under Derek, and he thinks this may be making him flexible enough for Cirque du Soleil or some shit. He should look into career opportunities.

Derek’s hands curl around his shoulders, and he can feel Derek bracing his knees on the bed, and then…

“ _Oh my god…”_

Derek had been holding back, because his hips are really snapping forward now and Stiles can’t speak, and then he’s coming but Derek isn’t stopping and Stiles brain shorts out.

Then Derek stills, pushing in as far as he can go and Stiles feels him coming too. Derek runs hot, and he thinks it’s a werewolf thing but maybe it’s just a Derek thing, but his spunk is hot too, and Stiles is oversensitive. Stiles doesn’t care. He just grins, blissed out on the fullness in his ass.

They stay like that for a moment before Derek rolls to the side, helping Stiles lower his leg, both panting and sweaty

Stiles sighs when Derek finally pulls out. He feels empty, and the come leaking out of him is soaking into the sheets and making another wet spot. He sits up. This is usually the point where Derek dresses and leaves through the window, and Stiles doesn’t feel like sleeping on cold jizz tonight.

He starts when Derek pushes him back down and pads down the hall, returning with a warm cloth to clean them off. When he’s done, he tosses it to the floor, then hesitates.

It’s awkward, and finally Stiles speaks. “What? I don’t think I can go again. My ass is done.”

Derek snorts, then slowly lowers himself to the bed and lies down, curled up on his side.

“Can I stay?” 

It’s the first time Derek hasn’t left after sex. Stiles doesn’t mind – he’s never said he wants more – but this is something he craves. This vulnerability Derek sometimes exudes, which he’s only caught glimpses of before but is now there, just for him.

He turns onto his side, facing Derek, and pulls him close. Derek goes easily, letting Stiles lead. He doesn’t resist when Stiles pulls Derek’s face to his neck and curls his body around him, threading fingers through dark hair and tracing stubble. 

“Thank you,” Stiles hears him murmur, and then he feels Derek utterly relax into sleep. It’s a heady feeling, and Stiles can only hold him closer.

This is the first time Derek has that he’s ready to drop his walls and let someone in. And that’s okay, because Stiles long ago realized he might love Derek Hale, but he knows Derek is damaged, the type of damage that takes time to heal. 

He’s willing to go at Derek’s pace, so he wraps his arms around Derek and falls asleep with his nose pressed into Derek’s hair.

*****

Stiles isn’t surprised when he wakes up alone. But the sheets on his bed are tucked in around him, and he knows he fell asleep completely uncovered. He smiles contentedly and texts Derek.

_see you tonight?_

_Yeah._

_cool_

Stiles can’t stop grinning because damn it all, he thinks Derek might just like him too.

* * *

**55.**

The first time Lydia realized that she could be the Alpha, she was fucking Jackson. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” Jackson hissed, used to being the one doing the owning, patriarchal bullshit that Lydia had played like a song until Allison swooped into her life like the proverbial winds of change.

“Sure sweetheart.” She said simply. His body made a liar out of him, the blood in his veins smelly sticky, rotten-sweet, like death and infection. Smelled like Derek. He still stank of Matt’s blood, a fake claim over the angel of death that was rightfully hers. 

Tomorrow they would find Matt’s body, throat slit, just another victim of the bizarre killings going on. 

“Lydia.” Jackson snarled at her, baring his blunt, human teeth at her in rebellion. 

She growled at him, letting some of the power she could feel simmering in her body into it. She had wasted so much time being afraid, battling the shade of Peter in her mind whispering _‘It can all be yours, my most beautiful creation. No one ever looked the way you do when you’re killing’_ Dancing to his dizzying tune and losing. 

Jackson quailed. She had always known that this was part of his personality, that when push came to shove he would buckle like a house of cards. It had been her job to fit herself into that part of him, to hold him together so he could excel, and she would be there ready to take him out at the knees if he disobeyed her. 

“Are you really going to fight with me now?” She asked, pressing her lips against his, forcing his head around. 

He’s delightfully naked and dazed when the scales receded, pliant for long moments and suggestible. They were curled in her bed, Jackson naked and pressed against her sweater (doesn’t seem to matter how many time he is re-born he just can’t get it right), slick with oily sweat and terrified of her. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t need to. You never understood even in the beginning when it was just you and me.” She nuzzled the short hairs behind his ear, pressing her face against skin that was all hers. Jackson’s breath hitched, coming out in a choked whine as she trailed her hand down his chest to splay out against his tummy, her breasts pressed against his back. 

“Relax.” She slurred, blood heating up, and fangs distending her mouth making it harder to speak. Jackson's heartbeat filled her head; loud and invigorating as a war-drum. She was half aware that she was losing control of the wolf and that it should scare her. 

“ _Ah._ ” The sound punched out of Jackson, shaking all over. Be mindful of the claws, wrapping one hand around his dick the other on the inside of his thigh. He was terrified of her but he was also so hard. 

Lydia licked over the scars that Derek left on his neck, worrying at them with her lips and tongue and just the barest hint of her teeth. 

“Yes.” Jackson grunted. 

“Hold still.” She admonished, his human hands gripping her sheets.

She didn’t hold back, knew was Jackson liked and used it against him ruthlessly. Hard and fast, jerking him off, smooth skin over the tick firmness, curling her fingers near the head until he was groaning freely, begging her, a slave to his own pleasure. 

Jackson came with a muted sound all over her hand, trembling against her chest while she kissed sloppy lines all over his shoulders, not even trying to keep her fangs to herself because the idea excited her. She was going to have him every way she wanted him because he was hers now. Stronger than lovers or family; pack. 

Lydia had been one step ahead since she decided to play the game, letting everyone run around trying not to let her know something was up. As if she was some kind of idiot. Waited for Matt where it was quiet and dark. She had expected to feel more, something beyond a sort of vindicated triumph when she clawed out his throat. 

The Kanima watched her, crouched low and rattling in its chest like a distressed child. “I’ve always got you Jackson.” She said, reaching a hand out to it, eyes glowing red in the moonlight. The Kanima reached back for her. 

_‘We’re going to burn the world down’_ Peter’s voice whispered from where she had banished it to the back of her mind.

* * *

**56.**

Danny twisted the water handle, relishing the quick shock of cold against his hard cock. He closed his eyes at the sting of pleasure. A loud clank followed by “shit that’s heavy” made him jerk up in surprise. He’d thought he was alone.

Stiles. Danny expected to hear Scott, but instead another loud clank and “dammit ow” made him grab his towel. He wrapped it hurriedly around his hips. Half erect he left the shower room, fully expecting to see Stiles flattened.

Close. Somehow Stiles had dropped the bar across his bare chest and was trying, and failing, to lift it.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Danny said, rubbing his still-wet hands on his towel. He lifted the bar back into place.

Stiles gasped for breath. His eyes widened as they skimmed over Danny’s body. “You’re wet.”

“Was in the shower. Ever bench pressed before?”

“Of course. Lots of times.”

Danny had never seen Stiles lift weights, not once. He’d never seen him flustered like this, either. Danny’s cock hardened. This could be interesting. Danny eyed him. “Really.”

“Okay no. I never have. I hate it.”

“I’ll teach you to love it. Lesson number one. What’s the first rule of bench pressing?”

Stile’s eyelids fluttered. “Um, I--“

“Never, ever, lift alone.” He checked the weights. “Couldn’t press two hundred?” Stiles’ face reddened. He tried to sit up. Danny pushed him down again.

“I, well... No?” His gaze brushed across Danny’s towel again, then a drop of water hit his face.

“Sorry.” Danny pulled his towel off, nonchalantly drying the rest of the way. Stiles’ shorts tented. “I’ll help you.”

“Sure.” Stiles paused. “Help me what?”

“Hands on the bar.” Stiles obeyed, eyes tightly closed. Danny spread them out. “Too close together. Push the bar up but don’t lock your elbows. There you go.” Danny bent down close to Stiles’ face. “Breathe out and bring it down to your chest. Open your eyes, Stiles.”

“You’re naked. That’s very distracting.”

Danny smacked his shoulder. Stiles’ eyes popped open. “Concentrate. Keep your eye on the bar. You want to stay in control.” He glanced at Stiles’ cock straining against his shorts. “Don’t think you’re in control, Stiles. Try harder.”

“I’m trying. You’re making it really difficult.”

“Let me help you then.” Moving to the other side of the bar Danny straddled Stiles’ body, placing his hands next to Stiles’ on the bar. He bent down. Stiles’ moaned. “Breathe in, replace the bar.” Stiles did so. Before he could remove his hands Danny said, “Don’t move.”

Stiles gulped. Danny’s cock dripped on his chest and he flinched. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Danny smoothed his hands down Stiles’ sides, letting his cock and balls rub against Stiles’ bare skin as he pulled down Stiles’ shorts. The tip of Stiles’ erect cock thumped against his belly. Oh, yes.

“Oh god, what are --“

“You wanted to know how it was done? Watch. And don’t move.”

Danny ran his tongue down Stiles’ quivering belly, lapping at the precome that had pooled there. He tapped the end of Stiles’ cock with his tongue.

Stiles canted his head back, pushing his hips up. “Oh fuck. Oh yes.”

That was all Danny needed to hear. He surrounded Stiles’ cock with his hot mouth and sucked hard, making Stiles’ screech. Ignoring him, other than to eye him once to keep his hands in place, Danny sucked harder, relentlessly running his tongue around the cock trapped in his mouth. His own cock ached for release but not yet, not yet. He was enjoying Stiles squirming too much.

Danny released Stiles’ cock with a thump, pulled one of his balls into his mouth and grabbed Stiles’ cock and began to pump it. His own need to be touched exploded.

With a growl he turned around, planting his cock and balls firmly in Stiles’ face. “Jerk me,” he demanded and Stiles did so, pumping him as Danny brought Stiles to the edge. He sucked on Stiles’ cock again, once, twice, and with a yell Stiles’ came, his come shooting hot into Danny’s mouth. He came a split-second later, shooting over Stiles’ stomach and groin. Danny collapsed on top of Stiles, both their bodies jerking with aftershocks.

“Fuck,” Stiles said hoarsely. “That was amazing.”

After a moment Danny pushed himself off of Stiles and grabbed the towel, wiping himself off. “End of lesson number one. Meet Thursday for another?”

Stiles gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I like weight lifting after all.”

* * *

**57.**

“You’ve never watched Supernatural!? What kind of werewolf are you!” Stiles gasped eyes wide in horrified disbelief and Derek rolled his eyes at the teenager’s dramatized reaction.

“It wasn’t a priority and from what I hear it’s not that good anyway.”

“Not good! Not GOOD! Derek!” Stiles wailed out and reached out to drag the Alpha up into his room, they had been talking about the pack and what they were going to do at the next pack meeting but somehow the conversation had drifted, more then likely thanks to Stiles. They had been discussing favorite television series and while Stiles had dozens that he liked to watch Derek didn’t really watch that much television and he hadn’t kept up with the latest series to hit the air.

“We’re going to have to marathon the entire first 5 seasons then.” Stiles said and Derek only half listened, his attention on something else. His hand felt warm in Stiles’s grasp and Derek couldn’t help squeezing gently at the softness. They were already in the bedroom and Stiles was digging with one hand around in a pile of movies, no doubt looking for the before mentioned box-sets.

“Actually I have something better in mind.” Derek said and when Stiles turned to look at him in puzzlement Derek crowded him in closer and leaned down to nip softly at the soft lips that were always parted slightly. Even when Stiles wasn’t talking his mouth always hanged open, like he was just begging to be ravished every time Derek laid eyes on him.

“Oh.” Stiles moaned and then smiled wickedly. “Well in that case.” He dropped down on his knees and looked up into Derek’s wide eyes. “I have a sudden craving, will you allow me to indulge?”

Derek did not whimper but it was a close call. “Stiles…please.”

Stiles smirked and reached out to unbutton Derek’s pants, “Oh Alpha my Alpha you know I can’t resist it when you ask so nicely.” Stiles reached into the open pants and pulled out Derek’s cock gently. It was already flushed red and pre-cum was leaking out the tip. It amazed Derek how much he could go from zero to one hundred every time when Stiles and him did this.

Stiles leaned forward and swiped his tongue along the crown, gathering up the pearly white mess with lustful glee.

Derek moaned as Stiles began to take in more of his cock in his mouth, his tongue working hard on the foreskin, making him leak even more into Stiles’s mouth.

Stiles pulled off a bit and ran his tongue and lips along Derek’s cock until he could suck on his balls, they hung swollen and heavy and Derek’s hands dug into Stiles’s hair when he felt Stiles begin to nibble tenderly on them.

“Fuck Stiles.” Derek groaned, “You fucking cock sucker, yeeesssss. God, your mouth- fuck your mouth.”

Stiles pulled off entirely, but before Derek could growl in protest Stiles spoke.

“Do that. Fuck my mouth. Gag me with your cock. Derek!” Stiles demanded, his voice already sounded wreck and his face was flushed red, his eyes were glazed and Derek didn’t have to see to know that his own cock was full and hard in Stiles’s pants. The teen would probably come in his pants soon without having to be touched. Derek loved it when that happened, it was cute and while Stiles may be embarrassed Derek would make it up to him, his mind already thinking about rimming Stiles’s pink asshole until he had the boy sobbing for Derek to fuck him.

“Yes.” Derek hissed out between clenched teeth and readjusted his hands in Stiles hair, getting a better grip as he directed his cock back into Stiles hot mouth.

He started out gently enough, pushing his cock until it hit the back of Stiles throat and leaving it for a few seconds before pulling back, but they were both impatient and soon enough Stiles was choking and gagging while saliva stained with cum dripped heavily down his chin. But he never tried to stop Derek, in fact he encouraged the harsh treatment, his hands were tugging on Derek’s balls and trying to draw him even deeper inside his mouth, even though that was impossible.

Derek didn’t last much longer and with a groan he spilled down Stiles’s throat, he felt Stiles’s coming a second later.

Later, Stiles would make Derek sit through all of the seasons of Supernatural for the first time, but not the last.

* * *

**58.**

"Took you long enough."

"I had to see my dad and Scott, dude."

"Still."

Derek is leaning against the doorway when Stiles gets to his loft. He's trying to look composed and casual, to not let Stiles see how anxious he is, how much he's missed him, but it's a lost cause. His jaw is clenched tight, and blunt, human nails dig into his biceps as he forces himself to not grab Stiles, hold him too tight, never let go again.

"Hi."

Stiles smiles. "Hi."

When Stiles comes close enough to reach, Derek pulls him in. Under the scents of strange new people and places, the scent of _mate_ pours into his nostrils as he sucks in deep breaths right at Stiles' neck. He feels two months' worth of increasing tension drain out of him.

"You eat?" he mumbles into Stiles' neck.

Stiles nods.

"Can you…?" He struggles with wording his request. "I just… Come here." Stiles' fingers slot with his as he leads Stiles through his loft and back to the bedroom. He can hear the change in Stiles' heart rate when he sees it.

Every blanket Derek owns is piled on top of his bed. A pair of black running shorts peeks out from amidst the pile and the sleeve of a faded red hoodie is dangling to the floor.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. Derek feels the blush rising on his face, but he can't truly be embarrassed about this. He should have thought of it before Stiles left for college and refuses to miss a second opportunity. He rubs his hand over the base of his neck and tries to put his need into words.

"Nothing smells like you anymore. Nothing smells like us…"

"So you thought the best way to remedy that was to sleep on everything you own and, hey, is that my lacrosse jersey?"

"You left it here. I…"

Derek could explain more, probably should, but Stiles is _here, now, finally,_ and his scent is overpowering rational thought in Derek's brain.

He pulls Stiles against him in the next moment, pressing their lips together, opening his mouth to taste his mate, and backing Stiles to the bed as he does it. They pull off each other's clothing in swift moves not easily forgotten. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, legs around his waist, when they make it onto the heap of blankets and clothing on the bed.

Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles' body, touching every bit of skin he's missed. Their mouths only part for breathing and tasting sweating skin.

He needs to be inside Stiles. Nothing else matters. He lubes up his fingers and presses in, stretching. Stiles squirms, threads his fingers through Derek's hair, pulls him in tighter. When he finally, finally, gets his cock in, he stops. Holds.

It's been eight weeks since Derek's had this, had Stiles pressed against him and around him. He knows Stiles needed to go to college, but he misses this so much. Misses the warmth of Stiles' body against his own, Stiles' scent and presence over everything he owns, the constant motion in his otherwise still world.

"Oh my god, you have to move," Stiles begs. "Please move."

Derek moves in minute thrusts. He can't bear any distance between them right now, so he presses his hips in tighter against Stiles' ass and buries his face in Stiles' neck. His wolf revels in the smell and feel of Stiles everywhere.

"Gonna fill you up. Make you smell like me." Stiles whimpers. "They have to know you're mine."

"Yes," Stiles groans. "Do it."

Derek rocks his hips a few times more, stamina shot by the overwhelming presence of _Stiles,_ and his orgasm rips through him like a tidal wave. He comes with a hoarse shout, pouring himself into Stiles' body.

Somehow Derek manages to roll them over without pulling out. He's trembling, shocky, and he can't take his eyes off Stiles. Stiles, who hasn't come yet, didn't get the chance to. Stiles, who is, _fuck,_ jacking himself off.

Stiles folds himself over to whisper in Derek's ear, "I'm gonna come on you. Make _you_ smell like _me_. Let them know _you're mine._ " Seconds later, he comes across Derek's chest before collapsing on top of him.

Later, Stiles says, "I know what you mean about the smell thing," and fishes a plain black T-shirt out of his duffle. "I was kinda hoping that while we weren't doing that, you could wear this."

* * *

**59.**

The first time Derek meets Stiles, he considers eating him.

He's skulking around his burnt-out husk of a home when suddenly he's _there_ in Derek's kitchen, saying, "Well, this looks healthy.” He sniffs at the sink, scrunches up his nose.

Derek's eyes flash red and he's all fangs and claws as he snarls, "Get out."

Stiles's gaze sashays over to him, entirely unimpressed. "Can't do it, bud. I'm your wish-fulfilling indentured servant. Stiles, for short."

"What?"

"Some people call them fairy godfathers. I prefer ‘Magic Bitch.’ The former makes it sound like I get some kind of choice out of the whole dealie."

Derek decides he's done dealing with this and stomps off, growling, "Fuck off," over his shoulder.

Stiles doesn't fuck off. In fact, he only gets more persistent. He's _there_ every morning when Derek comes down the stairs, sitting in his armchair and reading _Teen Beat_.

"Get out," Derek says, his daily morning greeting.

"You need linens," Stiles says, his daily morning greeting – finding something to nitpick. "You're sleeping on a mattress, a lumpy, _soggy_ , bug-infested mattress."

"And sheets'll fix that?"

"It's a start."

He yaps at Derek about going into town because ‘being a lone wolf is the worst cliché the world has to offer and just because his insides are hollowed out and burned doesn't mean he can't fake it for an hour.’ Derek ignores him.

He wakes up to find honey-colored eyes blinking at him and he's so fucking _done_ with being told what to do and how he should live. He pins Stiles to the bed and growls in his face. Stiles's eyes seem to alight at the challenge. "You gonna fight me or fuck me there, big guy?" And Derek realizes he's hard.

Stiles pushes his hips into him and Derek snarls. He pushes up Stiles’s shirt, tangles the hem of it in his claws. Stiles is pale, gorgeous and gasping. Derek pulls down his trousers and fucks his face on Stiles's cock like he's angry at the world. He plays with Stiles's balls in his palm while he sucks him off violently, inhaling the musky scent of him.

Stiles shoots down his throat and grabs at Derek's dick with sure, confident hands.

He and Stiles fuck almost every day after but it doesn't stop Stiles from pestering him about being a misanthropic hermit. He screams at him one afternoon that living like a ghost won't erase all the others in his life.

Derek grabs him by the arms, slams him into the wall. " _I should have died, don't you get that_? The fire was my fucking fault!"

Stiles is quiet for a long moment. "If you really believe that, if you think _this_ is what your family would want for you, then you _are_ pathetic." And he does that thing where he's just _gone_.

Derek doesn't care. He goes off to bed and tries not to think. Stiles isn't there when he comes downstairs the next morning. He doesn't show up that night either. Derek prowls every inch of his house, destroying things in his wake as he imagines the fury he's going to unleash on Stiles when he returns. _If_ he returns. And after a week it's becoming pretty clear that's a big if.

He'd been fine on his own, _happy_ being alone, and then Stiles had come along.

Derek gets it in his head that Stiles will come back if he does all the things he's been bugging him about. He goes grocery shopping and doesn't growl at the woman who snatches the last cucumber out from under his hand, to the library and suppresses a grin thinking about Stiles trying to be _quiet_ , to the movies and he doesn't panic when it's crowded and he sits next to strangers. He gets linens and he talks to a contractor and it makes his heart hurt to think of tearing it all down but there's relief there too.

He goes into a coffee shop and a boy in plaid slides into the seat across from him with an unstoppable grin. Derek's breath catches. He has a hard time looking into that smiling face. He stares down at the table with hooded eyes. "You left," he accuses.

Stiles hums, takes a sip of Derek's coffee. "It was the kick in the ass you needed though."

Stiles shifts. Derek's hands shoots out across the table and grabs onto his wrist. "Don't. Leave," he grits out.

Stiles beams at him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**60.**

**Taylor Swift Is Our Spirit Animal**

_"This is the last time I'm asking you this, put my name at the top of your list…"_

The first time Stiles saw Allison after the thing wit¬h Gerard, he caught her singing along to Taylor Swift in the In & Out parking lot, her face wet with tears as her voice broke. It was funny, when he saw the car from behind and heard the music leaking out into the night. It wasn't funny when he saw her face. 

It was only _slightly_ funny that he got a Taylor Swift addiction from it. _Red, red, red_ stuttered off his tongue as he pulled up at a light and casually glanced to his left. The tinted window of the SUV next to him rolled down, and he was greeted to a raised brow from Derek. What the hell was he doing in an SUV? Stiles floored the gas and left Derek in the dust, his face burning. 

Stiles was thankful for the SUV the next week as he gasped for air in the backseat, limbs flailing and punching Scott in the face. Scott just gritted his teeth and sat on Stiles's knees, pinning him to the seat.

"Just hang on!" Isaac said encouragingly from the passenger seat. "Almost there!"

"Mwarffglumg!" Stiles yelled back. This was the problem of hanging out with lovesick werewolves who didn't pay attention to witch warnings. Stiles's first curse, and of course he got hit with one that made him hornier than a toad. His skin was on fire and Scott was not helping with the sitting and the possessing skin.

"Bleeeeeaurgh!" Stiles howled, just to drive his point home.

Derek screeched to a halt in front of the clinic and Isaac leapt out the window, only to run immediately back.

"Deaton's not here!" 

"Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Stiles bellowed. As a last word, it left something to be desired.

"Scott, Isaac, get the hell out of here," Derek commanded, yanking open the back door and practically throwing Scott out.

"But Stiles—" Scott protested.

"I'll take care of it," Derek said grimly and stuck his hand down Stiles's pants with absolutely no regard for dignity. Not that Stiles was planning to protest. He was too busy moaning.

"Oh my God, that sound!"

"Then turn on the radio and get the hell out of here!" Derek yelled.

It was Taylor Swift. Stiles didn't have a damn clue which song. He was distracted by the feel of Derek's hand on his dick, skipping right over that reluctant ally line and into unchartered territory. It felt amazing. He was pretty sure only about ten percent of that was the easing of the curse; the rest was all Derek. He had shockingly soft hands and a really strong grip. Stiles whimpered.

Derek frowned, released him, and ran his tongue over his own hand. When he gripped Stiles again, everything was that much smoother.

"Gnnnarwwww," Stiles breathed, which Derek interpreted as "Take my pants off" and pushed Stiles’s pants and underwear down to his knees, leaning over him close enough for Stiles to reach up and grab. So he did, hanging on, sweaty fingers sliding around Derek's jacket before tangling in Derek's hair for the duration. Not long, as Derek ran his thumb along the thick vein in Stiles's dick, just the barest scrape of nail. Up and down, tight and wet, soft and strong, nothing fancy, but Stiles was bucking up off the backseat, held in place by Derek caging him in.

He blacked out when he came, waking up to Taylor singing about trouble and Derek looking down his body at Stiles's spent dick. He was probably disgusted.

"Ugh, I owe you, what, six hundred favors now?" Stiles mumbled.

Derek licked his lips, his eyes drifting from Stiles's face to his dick. Stiles got the feeling both movements were involuntary. He pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Seriously?" he asked and Derek started to pull away. "Whoa, no! All yours, with my compliments."

Derek looked at him. Stiles looked back. This was way past curse-lifting favors. What the hell, Stiles thought, and surged up to give Derek a messy and off-center kiss. When he dropped back to the seat, Derek was as close to smiling as Stiles had ever seen him. Huh.

"Want me to change the music?" Stiles asked, looking to the dashboard.

"Nah," Derek said. "I like it."

* * *


	8. Group D (no warnings)

**61.**

The first time Lydia managed to convince Jackson to cross-dress he was surprised by his reaction to the experience. The fact that he liked it. Liked it enough for it not to be the last time.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/IfPx8K5.jpg)

* * *

**62.**

**The First Time Stiles Embraced His Scottish Roots**

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/LMhhFSy.jpg)

* * *

**63.**

**The first time Scott and Allison have webcam sex while she's away at college.**

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/AHt91nW.png)

* * *

**64.**

**The first time Derek notices Stiles' hands**

Oral fixation was putting it mildly. Anyone who had seen Stiles destroy a plastic straw knew better than to let innocent objects anywhere near that mouth of his. But there's no food or drink in sight, just a scattered stack of print outs from his research. Stiles is thumbing through the pile in search of something when he casually raises a finger to his mouth...

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/au1Z3EG.jpg)

* * *

**65.**

Scott was nervous he wouldn't like it the first time Allison suggested "new" for them. He shouldn't have been.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/bT52TGd.jpg)

* * *


End file.
